Diamonds & Emeralds
by Sarzie Connie
Summary: Set Post-Reichenbach. Sherlock Holmes meets a jewel thief from his past who knows nothing of what happened. Soon she becomes his soul confident, but is that all she'll ever be? Sherlock/OC Mild language and smut.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Sherlock gripped a mug of tea between his hands as he sat across from John.

"Where have you been?" John asked gingerly, concerned about his friend's distant behaviour. Sherlock looked at him with a slight smile. "Old school colleague of mine moved to Australia but he has a small flat in Thornton Place. I got his permission to use it."

"So who was taking care of you? I mean, you look like you've been eating so someone's been at least cooking for you."

"A young woman I knew from a while ago. She...found me."

"How did you meet her?"

"It was a long time ago, about 3 months before you and I met. Lestrade needed me for a string of thefts. This thief was beyond anything ever seen. He consulted me after a ruby, diamond and onyx necklace, bracelet and ring were all stolen off the Duchess of York whilst she was wearing them. She didn't notice until she saw herself in the bathroom mirror."

"You sound like you admire him."

"I did. You can't deny the brilliance and daring involved."

"True, but I still see him as a criminal."

"Dull." Sherlock said quickly, taking a long drag of his tea before continuing. "I spent a week tracking down all the people at every party, staff and guests, and found one young woman, a Miss Erika Butler, who was either waitressing or ushering at every party. She was the only one who could have done it. Of course there were others who attended them all but she was the only one who had direct contact with the guests each time. Following this, I discovered where she was next meant to work and flattered my dear brother until he got me an invitation.

"I arrived early in the evening and saw her almost immediately with a tray of champagne glasses. I took one ensuring she saw the ring on my finger, white gold with emeralds, my father used to wear it, and moved away from her. I stayed there for several hours talking to various dull people but she didn't appear to make any attempt to steal my ring. I was about to leave when I looked down at my finger. The ring was gone.

"I scanned the room without catching sight of her and assumed she had taken it and disappeared, intending to sell it. I knew Mycroft would execute me so I headed home to my residence at the time, intending to track her down the next day. I turned on the light and there she was, sitting at my desk and holding the ring out to me on a thin silver chain.

"Impressed, lowered my gaze, trying to find any details that would tell me what she was doing here but found none. I said to her, 'most people run away after they steal something of value.'

She simply smiled at me and put the ring on the desk and stood up. She looked me up and down, and then said, 'Mr Holmes, I am not most people.'

She made to walk out the door but I grabbed her wrist. She turned to look at me with a raised eyebrow. I asked her, 'Why would you return it? You could have disappeared with it.'

"'I have no use for it. Now, please, would you let go of me so I can leave you and your friend, 'she nodded to my skull which sat on the desk beside my computer. 'Alone.'"

"'Why shouldn't I have you arrested for robbery and breaking and entering?'"

"'No real reason. But if you have any real compassion, you won't.'"

"She stood back so that I could observe her and I saw in her the detail that told me if I had her arrested, it would be a life sentence."

"You couldn't have known that," John said quickly. "She would have gone away for five years, tops."

"As I said, a life sentence."

John was about to argue when the impact of his words hit him. "She was dying."

Sherlock nodded taking a long drink of his tea. "Cancer. She was at the start of her chemotherapy at the time."

"Continue," John said simply.

"In any case, I couldn't bring to have her arrested. Such brilliance would have been wasted in a cell. So I made her a deal. 'Don't repeat the act and you can leave.'

"She smiled at me softly and nodded. 'I swear it.'

"Then she made to leave but I grabbed her again and opened her hand. Into it I dropped the ring with its chain. 'A small reminder. Now, leave.'

"She looked me in the eye and smiled, genuine and warm. 'Thank-you.'

"Then she fled. A part of me expected to find her in custody in Scotland Yard but it would appear she had kept her promise to me and given up her ways. I told Lestrade that it must have been an insurance swindle but he didn't believe. I assume he thought I'd been unable to find her."

"But you said that all this happened almost two years ago. So you met her again."

"Yes," Sherlock answered quietly. He took a deep breath of air before he continued.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

**6 months earlier**

Sherlock sleepily opens his eyes and looks briefly looks around him. Everything is white. There are nurses running between patients in the room with him. Oh God. He's in a _ward_. Mycroft's slipping again. He's forgotten about… Oh, of course.

Then, lifting himself onto his elbows, Sherlock instinctively looked around for John, hoping to see his smiling face to make this loud, idiotic hell al little more bearable. He's not there. Perhaps he went to get something to eat... Oh, no. He'll be at Baker Street. Life as a ghost is ever so lonely.

Sherlock lay down flat and took a deep breath. He looked around him and saw things in a little more detail now. The chair beside him hasn't been sat in. His bed is warm, he's been here at least an hour and, judging by the light, it's about 10 in the morning. He looks at the ceiling and knows that he's going to be in here for at least another 24 hours for 'observation' unless he starts taking hostages. He considers it briefly but knows it's more work that it's worth.

Closing his eyes, he tries to block out the screaming, crying, coughing, beeping and talking that surround him, overwhelming his every sense. Then he hears a voice to his right, from the bed next to him. "Really, I don't need to be here. There are others who need your attention more than me. I don't want to be here. They do. Why can't I just leave?"

Her voice was familiar, although he couldn't place it yet. He thought about looking to see who this mystery woman was but was interrupted by an elderly nurse. "Ah good, you're awake. Now dear, can you tell me your name?"

"John Croft," he answered without really thinking about it. He knew his real name wouldn't do much good for him now. Plus, he needed to be invisible for a while. Quite a while. "Mr Croft, can you tell me what happened?"

Sherlock answered her questions with as much patience as he had until she finally relented and let him rest. As she stepped aside he saw the face of the woman he heard previously and they were both surprised to see each other.

"Sherlock," she breathed. Her emerald eyes grew wide and a small smile crept across her face. "How long has it been?"

"Miss Butler. About 2 years I believe," he answered quietly. He was about to ignore her but then realised he had nothing else on which to focus. Sitting up in his bed, he turned to face her completely. "What brings you to this…establishment?"

Her smile faded a little. She looked down at the ground and then back up at him. The look told him everything. '_You know what_.' She rolled over in bed so she was facing away from him. He didn't need to see her face to know that she was crying. But then, he saw something odd happen. A nurse came over and offered her comfort and she asked for some morphine for her headache. The nurse returned with some and injected it into the IV. Immediately after the nurse left, her tears stopped and she sat bolt upright in bed, looking at Sherlock.

"So," she started, crossing her legs. "Why did you jump off a building? I thought you were far too fond of yourself for suicide. Or was the singular solitude just too much?"

"I'm not, wasn't, on my own. I have, had, a flatmate," he answered, constantly stopping to correct himself.

"Good God. You would have been a terror to live with. Did you just ignore each other?"

"No, we... How come you don't know this?" he questioned her. She simply pulled her knees to her chest and looked at him, puzzled. "Why should I?"

"He keeps a blog about my cases. He's, was, my…colleague."

"I haven't had access to a computer in a while. Or the papers before you mention that. I know you've been in them recently but I haven't been able to read them. Completely off the grid and out of the loop," she said with a smile.

Sherlock couldn't help but smile a little at that. Here sat the one person in the world who doesn't know what he's being accused of and why he's all alone. This woman, this reminder of the past he once had, was his only link in a world that believed him to be a fraud. The one woman who thought he was still on the side of the Angels.

"So, Miss Butler-"

"Erika, please. I hate formality."

"Erika," he said the work foreign in his mouth. "Lung or pancreas?"

At this she did something he didn't expect. She laughed at him. Then shaking her head she let the sorrow creep back onto her face. "Brain."

"Inoperable of course."

"The tumours to close to the brain stem."

"How Long?"

"Six months. Maybe more, maybe less but I don't rely on that."

Sherlock looked at Erika and saw all that was going to go to waste. Her intellect, her satire, her beauty. No, beauty was all superficial. What did that matter? Her mind was the most important, and it was going to wither away.

"It won't damage my intellect Sherlock," she said interrupting his thoughts. His eyes snapped up to hers and he looked at her coldly. "Don't look at me like that, it's written all over your face."

She smiled slightly a reached out her hand. Gently, she brushed her hand across his brow. "Your face wrinkles a little when you worry and the only thing that would make you worry about me would be losing my intelligence and, although it might fray a little, along with my emotion wellbeing, I'll get to keep both."

She then proceeded to lie back down in her bed, completely ignoring the world around her. Sherlock decided to take heed and did the same. He flattened himself back out on his and stared at the ceiling. Neither of them spoke for hours. They remained completely silent and unmoving until the sun began to set and the nurses began to slowly filter out of the room. Then, Erika sat up dead strait and turned to face Sherlock.

"You get released in the morning." There was no question in her voice, she knew that it was the truth and he knew that there was no point in arguing with her. "I'll be gone by nine."

She nodded sadly. "I'll be here for weeks. They want me to do an experimental trial. They said it could give me an extra month or two. I thought, 'Why not?'"

"You referred to that in the past tense," he said, picking up on every detail. "What changed?"

She smiled slyly and relaxed a little. She lay back down on her side and propped herself up on her elbow. "You've been here for 7 hours and 46 minutes."

"47," he corrected.

"None the less, you said you had a flatmate. You also have a brother and that plain girl with the small lips from the hospital who fancies you."

"Is there a point to this?" he questioned.

"Yes," she responded, mildly irritated by the interruption. "The point is that you've been here for almost 8 hours and you haven't had a single visitor."

Sherlock went stiff at that. What could he tell her? The truth wouldn't do very well as that was what he was running from in the first place. Besides, how could he know she could be trusted? Last time they met she was a criminal, stealing jewels from the necks of those otherwise engaged. Hardly the most trustworthy of all people.

"And then," she added, cutting across his mental monologue. "There is the fact that you gave that nurse before a false name. John Croft. That's something criminals and cops usually do. You, Mr Holmes, are neither as far as I'm concerned."

"Are you going to make a point, Miss Butler?" he said, joining in on her mock formality.

"Indeed. I just wondered how long you plan on keeping up this façade?"

At this, Sherlock laughed. He knew that she was a curious type but the fact that this was all she wanted to know was comical at least. He chuckled as he answered her.

"As long as I wish," he answered smugly. He then focused his attention on the ceiling, trying to count the millions of small, black holes that were there for both decoration and insulation but Erika wasn't one to let these sorts of things go.

"But you don't want to, do you? Something's forcing you too. Otherwise you'd have visitors," she stated matter-of-factly.

"You haven't had any guests either."

"But I have none by choice."

"You choose to be alone?" Sherlock was surprised at himself for asking this as the same had been asked of him many times in his youth. By his parents, teachers, fellow pupils. They all questioned him, and now here he was, enforcing it onto another. Surprisingly though, Erika didn't even blink. She just smiled slightly at him and dropped her head for a brief moment. Then she looked him right in the eye.

"I want to live alone, but I want to die with someone there."

"For what purpose?"

"So that there is someone on this earth that remembers me."

"I'll remember you." Erika laughed at this. A light giggle that burst from her lips and a smile spread across her face. She looked down and shook her head a little before coming back to meet his eye. "You misunderstand me. I want to be remembered as a person, not a puzzle that a frustrated child could solve."

"Does it really matter?"

"Of course it matters! If you were remembered as a dull, idiotic fool wouldn't you be offended?"

Sherlock was taken aback by how close to the truth she was, reminded that the world now mourned him as a fraud, a killer and a kidnapper. Erika still appeared to be waiting for an answer, even though he knew she saw his uneasiness and discomforts. She was going to make him admit defeat. Make him admit she was right. He sighed a little and decided perhaps it was better just to be out with it. "Yes, but…"

"Exactly," Erika said, cutting him off mid-sentence. Something that he was not used to people doing. He looked at her and was met with a completely unbiased and yet somehow, a satisfied expression gracing her features. "Context matters, Sherlock."

"Sometimes," Sherlock muttered as he rolled over in his bed so that he was facing away from the darked haired woman across from him. He was just drifting off into a drug induced sleep when he heard her.

"Always, Mr Holmes. Always."


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Sherlock was right. The following morning, he was discharged. As he left he saw Erika looking after him, sadness clearly defined in her eyes. He assumed she was lonely and, based on the discussion they'd had the night before, he was the first person to talk to her in a long time without asking her explicitly about her cancer or giving her pitying looks. He had to admit, he was a little disappointed to have to leave her behind, but there was nothing that could be done.

Pulling his coat a little closer around him and ensuring the bag he was carrying remained on his shoulder, he walked out of the hospital and into the cold London air. He took a deep breath and sighed. He had missed all the little details he could feel and see in the air. He could smell a bakery down the road that had just sold out of all their rolls, a smoker was around the corner from him and the suited man across the road from him was married with three children and a dog.

He began to walk west, heading for Baker Street before he stopped himself. It hit him in that moment that he had nowhere to go. He couldn't go to 221B because John had to believe him dead, for both of their safety. He couldn't go to Mycroft, Mrs Hudson or Lestrade for the same reason and he had already asked enough of Molly without putting her in more danger and, no doubt, discomfort.

He ramed London for a while. Passing newsstands with his name printed across every headline. _Sherlock Holmes: A Fraud_. He kept his head down and turned his mind again and again over a place to stay. He refused to live life a homeless man, that didn't suit his system of organisation and many of the homeless would recognise him. Plus, he would probably be thrown into a mental institution for schizophrenia or a rehabilitation centre for drug addiction. He shuddered at the idea of going back on drugs, hating himself for ever being stupid enough to try.

He then contemplated squatting and even began looking for places that appeared deserted where the tenant had clearly gone away for a decent time. But then he passed a flat that looked somewhat familiar. He hesitated for a moment, unsure where he was as he'd become so wrapped up in his thoughts he wasn't paying any real attention. He noticed a small sign on the side of the corner building. _Thornton Place_.

Sherlock smiled slightly and walked to a telephone booth nearby. A quick call to a directory and he was put through to the man he knew owned the flat.

"Hello? Andrew Connor speaking." The strong Australian accent hit Sherlock but he could still hear the English undertones. He always had been fast to blend in.

"Andrew, Sherlock Holmes here. How are you?"

"Sherlock Holmes? From school?"

"Indeed," Sherlock answered, already bored by the conversation, but sadly most exploitations have to be done in person.

"And why do you feel the sudden need to contact me?"

He smiled at that, taking comfort in the fact that it was obvious he wasn't as famous on the other side of the globe. Therefore, he could take what he wanted.

"I need to stay in your flat on Thornton Place for an indefinite period of time."

Obviously taken aback, there was a long pause over the phone. Sherlock could almost hear the rusty, underused gears working in the man's brain, trying to decide whether to trust a man he hadn't seen in fifteen years. Then he spoke, "How do I know it's you?"

Sherlock sighed in boredom, collected the memories from his mind palace and began. "We attended the same public, secondary school in North London. You were forced to sit next to me in English and were my designated lab partner for science in Grade 10. You cheated off me in the Year 11 final and were suspended for 2 weeks in the same year after you were found with cigarettes in your locker."

"You put them in my locker," he answered gruffly. Sherlock remained silent, smiling slightly at the memory, as the man continued to contemplate.

"Fine, you can stay there but don't call me again. Also, I can't give you a key but I assume you remember how to pick a lock. Text me when you're leaving for good and under no circumstances tell anyone that I let you stay there."

"Done," Sherlock answered and hung up the phone, knowing he held most of the good fortune to the fact that the man only got into Oxford because of the results he got of him. He walked back to the flat and pulled a paperclip out of his pocket. He began to pick the lock and in about the same amount of time it would have taken a person with a key, the door swung open. Sherlock walked in, looked around and smiled.

The flat was very plain with cream coloured walls and a minimal amount of furniture. There were two black lounges that sat opposite each other with a small television sitting on the other side of the room. Beside the TV, sat a desk, completely bare save the light that sat in the corner. There was a simple office chair sitting behind it. There was a small, circular dining table that could fit four maximum with two chairs that sat across from each other. There was a small kitchen attached that contained the necessities. There was a refrigerator, a freezer, an oven and various cupboards stocked with plates, glasses, cutlery and plain mugs. He then walked down a thin corridor beside the desk. Here he found a bathroom and a bedroom, both fitted with the basics. The bedroom had a double bed pressed against the wall with a simply nightstand beside it and a small wardrobe opposite. The bathroom held a toilet, sink, mirror, cabinet and shower. Nothing special.

He walked back out to the main room and threw his bag down onto the floor beside the desk. Out of it he pulled some of the things either he or Molly had managed to grab from Baker Street before the rooftop. His laptop, some clothes and documents he required, a few of his more basic disguises, his blue dressing gown and his skull all had found their way into the bag and he began to slowly unpack them. He placed his notes and laptop on the desk with his skull acting as a paperweight. He then went back into the bedroom and unpacked the clothing that remained, shoving most of it unceremoniously into the wardrobe. He then left the bag by the door of his room as he walked out of the flat to go and see if he could plunder anything else from his old home.

Baker Street was only a short walk away from where he was now residing. He stood across the street from 221B and slightly. He then realised what a stupid idea this was. He knew John would be there and if he wasn't Mrs Hudson certainly would be. Also, his face was plastered all over the papers. He would be easily recognised, ruining the whole purpose of his faked suicide. It probably didn't help that he was also wearing the same clothing he always wore, making him even more identifiable. He quietly cursed himself as he began the short walk back to what he must now, reluctantly, call his home.

He pulled the paperclip out of his pocket again and unlocked the door once again. He walked in and discovered that he had a guest. "What are you doing here?"

Erika exited the screen she had open on his laptop and turned to face him, smiling slightly. "Well you seemed surprised I didn't know what you were up too now days."

"So you break into my flat?"

"Well I don't have a computer," she stated plainly. She then jumped up and walked to the kitchen, pulling two mugs out of the cupboard and boiling the kettle that sat by the sink. "Shall I make us some tea?"

"You break into my flat and offer me tea?"

She then pulled two teabags from her pocket which she had clearly stolen from the hospital and placed one in each mug. She then poured boiling water into each and handed Sherlock one of them. "Isn't that the English way?"

Sherlock took it and sat down at the table while Erika sat opposite him, pouring an obviously stolen sugar packet into her tea and stirring it. "You say that like you don't know."

"Why would I? My Father was American, My Mother was Russian. Therefore, even though I was born here, I was raised in what most would call a fairly bohemian way. I thought you would have known this considering the amount of time you spent following me."

Sherlock looked away from her, blowing softly on his tea. "It wasn't relevant."

"It was a detail. You obsessed over details."

"And I missed one of a million people don't see in you."

"I know. That's what makes it such a shame."

"What shame?"

"That you're dead." Erika lifted her mug to her lips and took a long sip of her tea, her deep green eyes never leaving Sherlock's. The calmness in her voice as she spoke reminded Sherlock dimly of Moriarty but he wasn't about to admit defeat and just kept looking at her. He put his mug down of the table and placed his hands into his usual prayer position.

"The blog?"

"Indeed. I must say, this colleague of yours is very thorough."

"It was...necessary." His slight hesitation didn't go unnoticed and almost immediately the coldness in her eyes disappeared and was replaced by a softness. She put her tea down and placed both of her hands under her chin.

"Does this, what was it, John know?"

Sherlock looked away. "No."

This didn't appear to surprise Erika as she continued to question him. "Does anyone know?"

"No." Judging by her clear, well, clear to Sherlock, recoil, this did surprise her.

"You're telling me that you only real friend, your brother, hell, Scotland Yard all thinks that you're dead?"

She didn't need an answer. His silence was confirmation enough.

"So that makes me your soul confident."

"Not by choice," he said trying to make clear to her that he had no intention of anyone knowing. She picked up on this and there was an instant spark in her eye.

"You know what that means for me now, don't you?"

"Blackmail."

"Indeed."

"What do you want?" Sherlock wasn't in any way shocked by this. She was a criminal and criminals want security. For her, this was gold. She could claim power over the man who couldn't beat her. At least, that was Sherlock's expectation.

"I'm at a rather unusual stage now and I need a place to stay."

"You want me to find you a flat."

"No I want to move into this flat."

"No."

"Why not?" she questioned, all thoughts of blackmail appeared to be forgotten as her face turned hurt and angered.

"It's my property, for now at least, not yours. Leave."

"I'll go to John."

"And tell him what? That I'm not dead?"

"Of course not. I'll pick up your things. I'll make sure he's alright."

Sherlock hesitated at that. He did expect her to say anything even remotely close to what she had. She was offering him a way to spy on his flatmate and friend. Offering him what he had previously set out for before realising his own idiocy. She was offering him what he wanted. But he couldn't understand it. "Why would you...?"

"Because he's your friend. You care about him. And you want to know he's okay. And if you're meant to be dead, clearly you can't do that. I can."

He stopped and processed it for a moment before reasoning that what she was suggesting would be beneficial for all parties involved. "Fine. You can sleep in my bedroom, I'll sleep out here."

"No you won't," she said, stopping him as he began to get up to leave the table.

"You want the sofa?"

"No, I meant you won't sleep." Sherlock was confused by this. How could she, a woman who he only ever met the once know about this. John didn't write about it in his blog and she can't have known from their brief meeting all that time ago. Could she?

"I know you better than you think," she said, answering his unspoken question. He knew if John were there she would have been praised for her genius but Sherlock knew how obvious the train of though was. It wasn't a difficult leap, so he continued without skipping a beat.

"You're a criminal."

"And now so are you. We're going to have so much fun!" Erika jumped up from the table, clearing the mugs away and proceeded to the sink. He thought this was a little odd to be doing in an almost celebratory manner, but then he saw her shirt's sleeves as she rolled them up to wash the mugs. _Obsessive Compulsive Disorder_, he thought. He decided to ignore her as best he could and he proceeded to his computer which she had already logged into on his behalf. He began to type up a document when it hit him. _Already logged in_.

"How did you get into my computer?"

"With your password," she answered, not looking around or changing her tone. "It's a bit obvious."

"Obvious?" He couldn't hide his intrigue now as no-one had been able to find his password before. Not even Mycroft who had, on numerous occasions, tried and failed. "How so?"

"Oh come on," she answered tiredly, turning to face him. "TL1861304/1473. Long, but hardly rocket science. It's just so you."

"Well, you're the first to know that."

"You always loved to play with poison," she said. He didn't need to question how she knew that. The test tubes that had been littering his old flat when they first met would have been a big enough hint. Her voice cut across his thoughts. "Admit it. You're impressed."

"I must be. But it must be buried under the annoyance of having you breaking into my flat and computer."

"It's hardly buried," she said as she put the cleaned mugs back into the cupboard and leant back on the bench, looking at him. "It's written all over your hands."

"My hands?" He had to admit that even his mind couldn't find a connection between the two.

"Yes," she said stalking forward so that she stood right in front of him. She then leant forward and whispered in his ear, "They're not around my throat."

At that, Sherlock couldn't help but let out a small laugh and as she pulled away from him he could see the smile of amusement on her face as well.

"You were right," he said quietly. Erika raised her eyebrow in a question that didn't need to be asked. Sherlock finished, "this will be fun."

*Can anyone guess what Sherlock's password's about? The hints are all there.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The next week passed quietly with the two flatmates barely talking to each other. Sherlock had to keep a low profile until the press lost interest in him and Erika spent a lot of time in the flat as well, only leaving to go and get food and other necessities that they required as time went on. After just two days she had become accustom to coming home and finding Sherlock either sitting or lying on the lounge in quiet meditation or reading a book, some she recognised but some were in languages that she hadn't ever seen before.

The first Friday after she moved in with him, Erika returned from a shopping expedition around noon to find Sherlock Holmes lying upside down on the lounge, his head hanging about an inch off the floor. He was in his dressing gown and reading a book. Erika put the groceries in the kitchen then went and sat across from him, curling her feet up under her. She looked at the book and saw that the title was written in Spanish. Deciding to amuse him and brave the annoyance that he would most likely throw at her for interrupting him, she spoke.

"¿El mundo de habla Inglés se queda sin libros?" _(Did the English speaking world run out of books?)_

Sherlock looked up at her in surprise but decided to play along. "No, pero se quedó sin sus escritores de talento." _(No, but their writers ran out of talent)_

"Es cierto que en algunos casos. Té?" _(True, in some cases. Tea?)_

Sherlock just nodded in response and Erika got up and made them both cups of tea. When they were brewed, she put one down on the floor beside him and sat back down on the lounge clutching hers. She took a long sip and sighed. Sherlock looked at his and then looked away again, focused on the book. They sat in silence for a moment before a baritone voice broke the silence.

"Yo no sabía que hablaba español." _(I didn't know you spoke Spanish)_

"You never asked," Erika answered, returning to English. He looked at her with a raised eyebrow and quickly closed the book, not bothering to mark the page, and sat up straight on the sofa with Erika only just managing to save the tea from being kicked over in his haste to get up. She then placed it back on the carpet near him.

Sherlock smiled slightly and Erika knew that she was about to get tested. It was written all over his face. She blew on her tea, took a sip and prepared herself.

"Así que usted habla español." _(So you speak Spanish)_

"Obviamente." _(Obviously)_

"A russkiĭ ya predpolagayu?" _(And Russian I presume)_

"Konechno." _(Of course)_

"Française?" _(French?)_

"Oui." _(Yes)_

"Che dire italiano?" _ (What about Italian?)_

"Non, sed loqui latina quod est pulchellus claudere." _(No, but I speak Latin which is pretty close)_

"Sometimes," Sherlock said, finishing their multilingual conversation. "Any others?"

"Sadly no, but I'd quite like to learn German."

Sherlock smiled a little at this. "You should, although it's not as pleasant to the ear, it is the most expressive of all languages."

Erika laughed lightly. "Then I must. I'm the most expressive of all people."

They both laughed for a moment and drank their tea, conversing in various languages and slipping from one to the other with ease. They spoke about a variety of thing, from literature to science to music, only changing languages to try and confuse the other. They didn't seem to grow bored of each other like Sherlock often did with so many others and he found this a rare thing. Also, he was comforted by the fact that she never spoke about anything that didn't interest him. Clearly she was trying to keep him engaged. Then she returned to English and said, "I'm planning on going to see John tomorrow."

Sherlock nodded solemnly, all good humour erased from his face. Erika sat patiently, waiting for him to speak. Eventually he did. "Why are you telling me?"

"Well," she continued. "I need to know what you want me to take and also, I'll need you to write a letter to make it look as though you want me to take them. I don't think he'd believe me if I just stole everything."

He smiled a little at this. He slowly wandered over to the desk and Erika followed him, standing over his shoulder as he quickly wrote out a brief letter detailing what he wanted her to have. "He won't argue with that."

Sherlock heard her very close to his ear and jumped a little, unaware of her proximity. He handed her the sheet of paper and she folded it into her handbag. She then picked up the mugs and went to wash them. Sherlock began to write again, this time he wrote slower and longer, filling two pages with the text. Then, when he heard her put their cups away, he called her over.

"Erika," he called, and she came over quickly, looking at him with questioning eyes. He then folded the two pieces of paper and put them into an envelope, addressing it simply with one word. _John._ "Could you please give this to John for me?"

"Of course," she said with a gentle smile and placed it carefully in her handbag. "I'll make sure he gets it."

The following day Erika left fairly early in the morning, leaving Sherlock to his own devices. Regretting he didn't put his gun on the list, he settled for reading a book. This one was in Portuguese as he found the descriptions given in this version more useful and true than those in the various English copies. However, not being as fluent as he would have liked to have been, it took him a little longer to read it. He was still reading when she returned in the mid-afternoon. She had tears in her eyes but on seeing Sherlock's stern gaze, she hid them behind a stiff poker face and proceeded to the kitchen, leaving two bags, clearly filled to their capacity, near the front door. She returned soon with two mugs of coffee and plate of shortbread biscuits. She sat on the other end of the lounge Sherlock was on, handed him his coffee and placed the biscuits between them.

"Black two sugars, right?" Sherlock nodded and took a sip of the dark liquid. Erika blew on hers then picked up a biscuit and dipped it into the coffee. She then bit off the soaked part and repeated this process. Neither of them spoke for a while. Sherlock wasn't sure if he wanted to know about John and Erika was unsure of whether she should tell him the truth. Finally, unable to bear the silence any longer, she spoke up.

"He's in pain, Sherlock," she whispered and he could almost hear the tears in her eyes. He looked up but she refused to return the courtesy and simply stared into her coffee. It was then he saw the small detail that broke his heart, her right boot toe. A slight, circular depression that showed a truth that pained Sherlock greatly. John was using his cane again.

"Tell me," he ordered and Erika looked up at him, a single tear rolling down her cheek as she began to tell him of her day's adventure.

"I left early as you know so that I could be at Baker Street by ten. I bought a newspaper on the way for you to read and also so that I could remind myself that there was life outside the little world we live in. Also, you're name on a headline caught my attention. However, I can see this bores you so I'll skip a little ahead.

"I knocked on the door of 221B and it was answered by and elderly woman wearing black who introduced herself as Mrs Hudson, the landlady. I told her I was and old friend of yours and that I received a letter from you instructing me to drop of a letter and collect some items. At the sound of your name she burst into tears and hugged me close, crying into my shoulder. I let her weep for a while and, after a few minutes; she pulled herself together and directed me upstairs, leading me to your flat.

"I must say, it looks a lot like your old flat, just a slightly different arrangement but that's not what you want to hear. Mrs Hudson knocked and alerted John to my presence. He got up off the couch he was sitting in and came up to me. His limp had clearly returned and he was using his cane. He shook my hand and introduced himself. I of course reciprocated. I told him I was there to collect some items that you had asked me to have. I showed him the letter and I saw tears in his eyes looking at it. He nodded and directed me to where most of them were. Before I went to get all of them, I gave him your letter, telling him you sent it to me to avoid slandering his name. He thanked me and sat back down with it. At that point I left the room to go and find all your specified items.

"When I returned to the living area I found John sobbing with the letter held in his hand. I went to him and hugged his shoulders. He cried for a while and I let him, saying nothing. Then I made us both a cup of tea and talked to him. I asked how he was coping and what he was doing. He explained that he was broken and I could see that he was trying hard not to cry again. He asked how I knew you and I told him we worked a case a while back. Told him I was a law student which is true in some aspects. Then I got him to talk about other things that made him a little cheerier. I told him about how I grew up and he talked about some of your stranger moments. I told him how lucky you were to have him and he just sadly acknowledged my words.

"Then, he invited me to the funeral. It's next Tuesday, Sherlock. I told him I'd go and he seemed to be a little happier with that. Then I stood to leave and he did the same. We embraced briefly and I gave him my number in case he needed to talk. He thanked me and I left."

Sherlock didn't know how to react. He just sat there staring at her. Erika was clearly distressed by this and she touched him lightly. He nodded slightly to acknowledge her presence. She then sat and drank her coffee as he processed what he just heard. After five minutes he finally spoke.

"When is the…my funeral?"

"Tuesday, 11am." Erika looked him in the eye as she said this, delivering the facts with a cold detachment that both impressed and intrigued him. It was clear to him that she was trying to make him feel more comfortable. Oddly enough, it did.

Sherlock relaxed a little and drank his coffee. She mimicked him and the both sat in a comfortable silence for a time, Erika occasionally taking biscuits as she had before. He could see from the sadness in her eyes she was still thinking about John. He didn't want to see that and he wanted to distract himself from his mourning friend.

"Did you get everything I specified?" She looked up and nodded towards the bags near the door. Sherlock just looked at her, waiting for her to bring it to him like John always, eventually, did. Erika just smirked at him, shook her head and lay back on the sofa.

"I'm not getting it for you. You've got legs, use them." He groaned and got up slowly, noticing the smirk she was desperately trying to hide. He walked to the door, picking up the bags and bringing them back, putting them down between the lounges.

Erika sat up and undid the latch on one of the bags whilst Sherlock did the other. They then silently unpacked them, placing all of the items where Sherlock specified they go. After a half hour of unpacking, adjusting and readjusting, the flat didn't look dissimilar to Baker Street. Sherlock immediately threw himself down onto his union jack pillow which now resided on the sofa. He closed his eyes and let himself go, wandering through the many corridors in his mind palace. Erika just sighed softly and sat back in her chair, content to wait until he spoke. Eventually he did.

"Why did you steal?"

"What do you mean?" Sherlock looked over at her with intense eyes. Erika looked at him with an innocent curiosity that was obviously fake. She smiled slightly and Sherlock raised an eyebrow, refusing to repeat the question when she knew what it was. Finally, she relented and spoke.

"The world's made of devils and angels Sherlock. And I know what side you're on."

Suddenly, Sherlock's vision disappears and he sees instead Moriarty standing in front of him on the rooftop of Barts. He smiled and danced around Sherlock, taunting him. Sherlock could see John watching him from the ground and he was falling. Falling.

Sherlock returned to reality hazily and found his shirt unbuttoned to the stomach with a wet cloth on his forehead. He was lying on the sofa staring up at the ceiling and he could hear Erika in the kitchen. Eventually she comes out holding a cup of tea and she sees him.

"Thank God, you're awake. What happened?" Sherlock made to sit up but Erika pushed him back forcefully. She then repeated the question, but with more power. "What happened?"

"Nothing," he answered, buttoning up his shirt. He quickly pieced together what must have happened from her perception and came up with a reasonably plausible excuse. "I just lost my balance."

"Bullshit." Sherlock looked at her with a both surprise and irritation. He was met with a concerned face and he instantly reverted to his usual emotional state. Shaking his head he leant back into the pillows. "Forget it."

"Sherlock you fainted. Like HELL I'm going let that go!"

"And I'm not going to talk. Just..." Sherlock began to get up when Erika pushed him back down again. She sat near his feet so as to thwart and further attempts at an escape. He started to resist but soon discovered that his limbs felt as though they were made of lead. Also it might be easier to just cooperate. She might get bored or tired and relinquish.

"Why don't we just have a rest and watch some TV okay?" She grabbed the remote and turned on Doctor Who. It was in the middle of an episode and Sherlock barely paid attention. But then he heard three words that chilled him to the core.

"Gottle o' Geer, Gottle o' Geer," followed by blood curling laughter and suddenly his every sense seemed overwhelmed. He could see John covered in semtex, the red dots dancing on his chest. He heard the sound of the water from the pool, Moriarty laughing coldly and John saying those words over and over. "Gottle o' Geer. Gottle o' Geer"

"Sherlock?" He heard her and knew he was saying the words out loud but he couldn't stop himself. The words kept spilling from his lips and he felt himself sinking into black hole in his head.

"Sherlock!" He heard the frantic tone in her voice and then the world went silent. He heard nothing and let the blackness swallow him whole.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Erika watched as Sherlock lost consciousness again and sprang into action. She stood and took his temperature with the back of her hand. He was burning up. Acting fast she shifted him into a sitting position. She then placed one of his arms around her shoulder and put one of hers around his waist. She then stood and, half carrying and half dragging him, walked to the bedroom and threw him down onto the bed a gently as she could.

Erika then raced away and wet as many clothes as she could. She then half stripped Sherlock so that he was in only his pyjama pants and covered him as best she could in the damp cloths in an attempt to bring his temperature down, but the fever raged on. She sat on the edge of the bed with a bowl of cool water and a cloth, dabbing at his forehead and ensuring that the cloths on his pulse points stayed cold and damp. Then she just waited for Sherlock to wake up.

Finally, after three hours, Sherlock's eye fluttered open. He looked around and finally focused on her. He seemed a little confused and she understood why. She quickly explained. "Sherlock, you lost consciousness again and you've been out for 3 hours. You have a temperature averaging 40.7°C. Tell me what happened before."

Sherlock blinked heavily as his head slowly put together what she said. High fever, 3 hours, loss of consciousness were all that really stayed with him. He then told her what he knew. "Saw John…semtex…Moriarty…falling…falling…"

Erika could see that Sherlock was starting to lose consciousness again and she pinched his leg to wake him up. "Sherlock, what else? What other symptoms in the last 2 days?"

But Sherlock was already slipping back into unconsciousness and Erika tried to wake him. She pinched, shook and yelled at him but nothing seemed to be able to revive him from this deep slumber. Thinking something might have changed, she took his temperature again and let out a gasp. Dropping it to the floor she ran into the bathroom as the display on the small device still read 42.4°C.

Quickly she turned on the cold tap in the bath and left in running as she ran into the kitchen. He emptied all the ice she could find in the freezer into a bag she found there and trekked it into the bathroom where the bath was already y half full. She tipped the ice into it which filled the rest of the tub. She turned off the water and grabbed Sherlock. Dragging him the say she did before she took him into the bathroom and, as gently as she could, lowered him into the bath. On hitting the icy water, his eyes opened and he made a desperate attempt to get out. Erika held him there.

"I know it hurts, I know it's uncomfortable but we need to get your temperature down Sherlock. I'm sorry and I'll get you out as soon as I can but there's only so much I can do."

Sherlock looked up at her glaringly but didn't argue, clearly aware that she was doing this as a last resort to quell the fever. He stared at the ceiling and shivered, his teeth gritted together in an effort to stop them from chattering violently. His arms rested on either side of the bath so that he could keep at least a part of his body away from the cold he was forced into. Erika continued to take his temperature, promising that she would take him out of the bath as soon as it stopped being dangerous to him. Finally, it lowered to 39°C, still a fever but low enough that it couldn't do any damaged. She helped him out of the bath and back into bed. She then covered him with the cloths like before and let him sleep.

About four hours later, Sherlock woke up again and Erika questioned him again. "Sherlock, I need to know any other symptoms you've had. We need to treat you. What has there been in the last 2 days?"

He blinked deeply, closing his eyes for at least a second, then opening them. He then tried to sound normal as he recited all he remembered. "Slight cough…muscle weakness…fatigue…loss of balance…sore throat."

Erika leant back a little with her brow furrowed. He could tell she was going through all the possible causes of these things and then smiled slightly. "You have acute bronchitis. I think I saw some antibiotics in the kitchen. I'll grab them. One moment."

She disappeared and returned promptly with a glass of water and a vial filled with pills. She emptied them onto the bedside table and handed Sherlock the glass. He raised an eyebrow as he looked at all the different tablets she had lined up for him. She smiled and divided them up, then pointed to each different group and explained their purpose. "Two antibiotics for the infection, 3 painkillers for your sore throat and muscle aches, a cold and flu tablet for the cough and 2 multivitamins to make up for the losses. Take them all, don't question me. Also, drink the entire glass of water."

Sherlock grimaced but did as she asked as he felt awful and was in no position to argue. He downed the pills in one mouthful and finished the glass of water quickly, realising he was parched. He then handed the glass to her and she left to get another one. When she returned he was asleep. She put the glass beside him, moistened the cloths again and left him in peace.

The fever finally broke mid-Sunday morning. Sherlock, of course, still felt terrible but at least he wasn't at any further risk. He was, however, exhausted. Erika kept him on the cocktail of pills to stop the infection coming back or him getting any other infections in the meantime but he mostly just slept. All of Sunday passed relatively quietly as Sherlock rested and Erika waited on him.

Come Monday, Sherlock was back to his normal self. He was bemoaning his boredom and terrorising their kitchen with experiments littering most of the surfaces there. At one moment, Erika was sitting on the lounge reading, as she often did, and Sherlock was working on one of his more explosive experiments. As he mixed the chemicals a loud crash emanated through the flat. Erika merely turned the page and continued reading as Sherlock waved away the smoke that his chemistry had caused. Eventually the smoke cleared and they were both still working on their activities. Eventually though, Sherlock called to Erika. "I need copper wire. Buy me some."

"Can't."

Sherlock looked up from his microscope as Erika was reading her book. He frowned at her. "What do you mean you can't?"

"No money."

"Use mine."

"What money do you think I've been using?"

Sherlock glared at her after that. Erika sighed, stood up and walked over so that she was standing in front of him. She then leant down to his level so that their faces were even. "How badly do you need this wire?"

"Extremely. It's important."

"Fine. I'll be back in one hour with it."

She stretched back up and grabbed her coat from the chair where it was hanging and wrapped a red scarf around her neck. She then grabbed an old hat which had been sitting unused in the corner which Sherlock hadn't really noticed. She placed it on her head and walked to the door.

"I thought you said we didn't have money?"

"We don't," she answered as she searched her pockets, and then triumphantly pulled out three of four coins.

"That won't buy the wire."

"You'd be amazed," she said and with the slam of a door and the wave of her hand, she was gone, Sherlock watching after her somewhat confused. Intrigued by her behaviour and bored without an experiment, he decided to follow her. Quickly he put on his coat and scarf and left the flat. He didn't see the direction she took but assumed she would have most likely headed towards York Street. He briskly walked there but as he drew closer, he heard singing.

Sherlock walked closer to the music and he saw Erika, standing on the street corner with a small audience in front of her. Her hat lay at her feet and had four coins in it that she had clearly placed in there herself. He stood a little away from her and listened as she sung.

"_Time dances whirling past_

_I gaze through the looking glass_

_And feel just beyond my grasp_

_Is heaven_

_Sacred geometry_

_Where movement is poetry_

_Visions of you and me_

_Forever"_

Sherlock closed his eyes and leant back against the wall behind him as she sung. Her voice smooth and rich and strong, conveying all the emotions the song could ever possess. Her music swept him along as her voice cascaded up and down the scale of the aria. He let out a small sigh of delight as she continued.

"_Let the dark waltz begin_

_Oh let me wheel let me spin_

_Let it take me again_

_Turning me into the night"_

The audience that had gathered around her applauded and threw their money into the hat. She thanked them and took a small bow as they disintegrated back into society. Slowly she picked up the hat and quietly counted the money. Smiling to herself she took all the money out of the hat, put it in her pocket, put the hat on her head and walked away. Sherlock stood stunned for a brief moment before he returned to Thornton Place.

Almost an hour after, Erika returned and threw the copper wire at Sherlock who was now sitting at his microscope, not paying any attention to her. "Thank-you John."

Erika sat down and picked up her book as if nothing had happened. Sherlock conducted his experiment which lead to his conclusion that copper wire was more apt for decapitation than iron wire. Erika didn't look up as he jumped up from his chair and walked over to his violin, picking it up and placing it under his chin. He grabbed the bow and began to play, closing his eyes.

Erika looked up as the wave of melodies danced around her. She breathed in deeply as Sherlock played a slow but beautiful melody that seemed somewhat familiar. Finally she placed it.

"You followed me didn't you?"

Sherlock ceased his playing immediately, unaware that he was playing the melody he had heard from her earlier that day. He simply turned to face her and nodded sharply. He then continued to play a countermelody to her song. Eventually he heard soft singing behind him.

"_We are the lucky ones_

_We shine like a thousand suns_

_When all of the colour runs_

_Together_

"_I'll keep you company_

_In one glorious harmony_

_Waltzing with destiny_

_Forever"_

The violins intensity then grew and Erika sang louder, her confidence growing at the way that their melodies entwined.

"_Dance me into the night_

_Underneath the moon_

_Shining so bright_

_Turning me into the night"_

She and the violin finished the song on an eerie and endless note. Sherlock's eyes opened and turned to see Erika's shut with a look of the most intense tranquillity. He lowered the violin and placed it back on the desk where it was. Erika then slowly and dreamily opened her eyes, a small smile still present on her face. She looked at Sherlock and let out a small laugh. She then pulled three hundred pound notes out of her pocket and pushed them into his hand.

"Your half of the family income," she said with a smirk. Sherlock's eyes widened at that. She had made over £600 busking in a little over an hour. Erika then disappeared into the bedroom with a yawn, retiring for the night. Sherlock finally let a smirk break onto his face and he let out a low chuckle. This woman could be the death of him.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The following morning, Sherlock was roused from his light sleep on the sofa by the sound of Erika rushing about. He sat up and saw her dressed in a fashionable black dress with matching heels. Her hair was delicately pulled back and held there by a dark red hairpin. She was rummaging through a small bag she had draped over her shoulder.

"Who died?" he said, not thinking. Erika looked up at him with a raised eyebrow then half smiled.

"You." Immediately Sherlock remembered the conversation they'd had only a few days ago. His funeral was today. "But it's not until eleven. Why are you dressed now?"

"Because I have to go to the bank first. I need to open a new account."

"For what purpose?"

"For you," she answered without looking up from her bag. Sherlock went silent and Erika clearly was aware he was thinking. After a few moments she sighed, looked up and spoke. "You can't use your bank account because it's in your name. I'll set up one for a Mr John Croft and sort it all out. The bank opens at nine so I'd like to be there on time. I won't be back until sometime after lunch so amuse yourself for the time being."

Quickly she grabbed her coat and left without another word. Sherlock just sat there, bemused. Finally he decided that another experiment was a decent way to pass the time and he began setting up all the equipment he would require. Hours passed and Erika didn't return. Sherlock completed his experiment and lay down on the sofa, retreating into his mind palace. He stayed there, not moving for God knows how long before he heard fumbling at the front door. He knew it was Erika but for some reason she didn't seem to be able to pick the lock. Silently he got up from his position and walked to the door.

Upon opening it he was met with Erika looking as dishevelled as possible. Her make-up was rubbing off and she had tear stained on her cheeks that were still being formed as she was crying profusely. On meeting his eye she let out another sob and wrapped herself around him in a tight hug. Unsure of what to do, he hesitantly patted her on the head, pulled her inside and shut the door behind them. Finally she let go of him and collapsed down onto the lounge. Sherlock sat opposite her as she tried desperately to pull herself together. Wiping her eyes and snivelling, she finally managed to sober up enough to talk. "You have to tell him."

Sherlock sat up straight at that and looked away from her. He knew she could probably read the guilt in his eyes but he pretended she hadn't as he replied. "I can't."

"Sherlock," she said, looking at him with sadness and slight anger. "If you knew what they were going through. Sherlock, John is tearing himself apart! And Mrs Hudson is falling to pieces as well. Even Lestrade looked distraught."

"Don't," Sherlock said, averting his gaze.

"What," Erika said, challenging him. "You don't want to hear it Sherlock but you need too. John is a merely shadow of himself. He was screaming at Lestrade and Donovan. He and Mrs Hudson held each other and wept. John's shirt was drenched with her tears and Mrs Hudson's hair with his. John watching his best friend jump off a building as the world called him a liar and now you've made him one. Now you've made me one. I held their hands as they collapsed with grief and as they told me that you didn't deserve to die. It is torture to not tell them! They need you Sherlock. TELL THEM!"

"Shut up!" Sherlock yelled as he jumped up from the sofa. He paced the room as Erika watching him nervously; concerned she pushed him too far. They were silent as they both thought about what they had said and seen until finally Erika spoke again. "I'm sorry Sherlock but if you knew how hollow he's become, you'd tell him in a heartbeat."

Sherlock stopped his pacing and looked at her. Erika bit her lip and looked down at her hands as he said two words neither of them really predicted. "Show me."

Without questioning it, Erika grabbed his coat and threw it at him. They walked quietly to the cemetery where the cadaver playing him was now buried. On arriving Erika pointed to where his gravestone was. "John will probably still be there. Stay out of sight."

She then turned and walked away, leaving the two men as close to alone together as they were likely to ever be for a long time. Sherlock watched as she left and then turned his attention to his grave. He approached it cautiously and saw John and Mrs Hudson standing at the foot of it. Hiding behind a tree, he watched as they briefly conversed before Mrs Hudson left, leaving John standing at his headstone. He watched as John spoke, unable to read on his lips what he was saying but was, in a way, glad he didn't know. He then walked forward and touched the top of the stone, rubbing his hand along the polished marble. Then he turned to leave.

Sherlock was about to disappear when he saw John double take and walk back the few steps he had away. Then he said something that Sherlock could read on his lips. _Don't be dead. Would you do that for me? Just stop it. Stop this._ Then he did walk away, joining Mrs Hudson and they left together. Sherlock watched after them, resisting the urge to call out to them. He then left, returning home to Thornton Place.

Erika glanced up from the book she was reading as he entered. She was about to speak when he raised a finger at her to silence her. He then paced the room with his fingers in a prayer position in front of him. He walked progressively quicker as Erika merely watched him with her lips pursed together. He finally sat down on the lounge across from her and pulled his knees up to his chest with his hand resting on top of them. He kept his silence and Erika got up to make tea. She soon returned and held Sherlock's out to him. He didn't move so she placed it on the floor near him. She drank hers and watched Sherlock. He didn't move and eventually Erika went to bed.

The following morning it didn't look as though he'd moved. Erika just silently went about her business trying not to make too much noise or get in his way. By about lunchtime, Sherlock still hadn't moved an inch. Unsure of what to do, Erika merely grabbed her coat, scarf and hat and went out, intending to go out busking. Sherlock still didn't move for a long time. He didn't even register that she had left for over an hour. When he did it was because he heard music coming from nearby. Intrigued, he lookout the kitchen window and saw Erika busking again, but this was a different song. Slower and sadder. Without really thinking, Sherlock found that he had grabbed his violin and bow and left to follow her.

Approaching where she and a small crowd stood, another street corner, Sherlock listened for a moment, hearing the song for all it was worth.

"_But in the moment you know_

_That Death has claimed you for his own_

_He plays for you_

_His violin plays for you_

_And I know_

_I'd follow it anywhere_

_I'd do all he wishes_

_If he sings me to my rest"_

And after those words, Sherlock raised his violin to his shoulder and he started to play. Erika turned and saw him with his eyes closed, playing clearly as he thought of it and, amazed, she continued.

"_His melody so haunting_

_His music unworldly_

_As he plays inside my mind_

_Inviting me home_

_Death plays his violin_

_And whispers in my mind_

'_Come to me_

_Oh follow me_

_I'll take away the pain"_

And she sung on, their music melting together perfectly. His violin provided a countermelody that was both haunting and real. Erika smiled slightly as she and the violin finished the piece together, eerie and beautiful. The crowd, which had grown significantly, burst into a rapturous applause and they both took a bow. Slowly the people drifted away and Erika picked up the hat. She looked at the money inside and grinned widely. She moved to show Sherlock but found he'd disappeared again, back into the flat no doubt.

Sighing, she walked the short distance back, picked the lock, and found Sherlock sitting in the same place he had been for the past 24 hours. Silently she emptied all the coins and few notes into a large salad bowl she kept on the table and began counting them as quietly as she could. The time passed slowly for the both of them before a baritone voice cut through the quiet.

"Tell John to go back to his therapist." Erika looked up surprised, warranted considering the man hadn't spoken in almost 2 days. She walked over to the sofa and sat across from him. Sherlock was now reclining back on the lounge, his fingertips pressed together and his eyes focused intently on the ceiling. Biting her lip, Erika looked down at her hands and muttered something unintelligible.

"Pardon?"

"I said I can't." Sherlock sat bolt upright and looked at her. She refused to meet his eye and, needing to see her face in order to read it, he grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. There were tears clearly present there and he attempted to soften his gaze. Clearly it was fruitless and a tear cascaded down her cheek, coming into contact with Sherlock's index finger. Acting on instinct he used his thumb to wipe the tear's trail off her cheek. After he was aware of his action, he took his hand away and placed it under his chin, desperate to continue as if nothing had happened.

"Why not?" Erika sighed deeply before answering.

"Because that would be implying he's weak and he wouldn't take very well to that." Sherlock looked down as he thought. She was right of course, but that was a useless fact. Quickly, he scanned his mind for anything useful that might help him go back. Then it hit him. Her right boot toe.

"Ask him what he did for his limp last time. He'll mention the therapy and you encourage it's return."

Erika smiled. She got up and kissed Sherlock lightly on the cheek. "You are brilliant."

She then proceeded to the kitchen to clean up and make them both tea and dinner. She took her time and it left Sherlock contemplating her rather extreme, or extreme to him, reaction to a simply suggestion. His memory led him to Irene doing the same thing, but that was for blackmail. Then he remembered his mother kissing Mycroft on the cheek when he received a scholarship to Cambridge, something everyone was aware he was capable of. Perhaps that was why Sherlock had fought tooth and claw to get into Oxford. Somewhere Mycroft had failed to contaminate with his presence.

Erika placed a plate of food and a cup of tea loudly on the table, breaking Sherlock from his trance. He stood and walked to the table, deciding that a small meal now couldn't harm him. Erika sat across from him and together they ate in silence. He watched her meticulously as she ate, desperate to unravel her mystery. Or perhaps just to be one step closer to understanding the insoluble puzzle women had always been to him.


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

The following day, Sherlock woke to an unfamiliar phenomenon. Erika wasn't there. Normally Sherlock would wake up, that is if he slept at all, on the sofa to the young woman running about the tiny flat. Her absence worried him. Tentatively he walked to the bedroom door and knocked quietly. From inside he heard a groan of pain. Worried, he opened the door and found Erika lying with her back to him, curled up in bed with her head under a pillow. From this Sherlock made a very quick deduction. _Migraine_.

Silently as he could he walked back to the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water and two aspirin. He tip-toed back into the bedroom and gently touched her shoulder. She flinched and turned slightly to face him. He held out the pills and the water. She took both and down them quickly, desperate for any type of relief. She then turned more to smile at him but was met from the light outside the room. She hissed in pain and curled back up, her hands reaching over her head, pulling it to her chest.

Sherlock leapt to the door and closed it quietly. He then lay down on the floor at the end of the bed and closed his eyes, content to roam his mind palace and, in his way, keep an eye on Erika at the same time. For almost 3 hours neither of them moved, until they both heard a loud band, Sherlock identified as a car door being slammed, and Erika let out a shriek of pain. Sherlock jumped up and looked at her, ensuring that the pain was passing, but it didn't seem to be. She groaned and hissed with every breath and Sherlock was unsure what to do. He couldn't give her anymore drugs without risking making the headache worse.

Then a thought struck him. When he was a child, his mother always got migraines and one of the maids would give her a craniosacral massage. She always seemed a little better during one and it would help relieve the pain. Sherlock looked down at Erika and saw the pain she was in, knowing that if it were him he would do anything to remove it. Slowly, he assessed the situation and decided it was in both of their best interests to help her.

Sherlock grabbed the pillow she wasn't lying on, sat cross-legged at the head of the bed and put the pillow in his lap. He them patted the edge of the pillow. "Put your head in my lap."

Even in her pain-filled state, Erika managed a slightly sarcastic look in his direction before another wave of pain shot through her and she did as he asked, desperate for anything that would take away the pain. Slowly, Sherlock moved his hand to her head and massaged the skull as he'd seen his mother's maid do. As he continued Erika's groans of pain shrunk in intensity and frequency. She relaxed into his touch as he massaged her scalp slowly. She was clearly still in significant pain but it would appear to have dropped a lot. Sherlock was about to move her, convinced his treatment had worked but she stopped him.

"Please don't stop." Her plea was so soft Sherlock almost didn't hear it but in seeing the look of pain clear in her eye he nodded once and resumed his former treatment. Erika leant into his touch and Sherlock was amazed to discover he didn't mind. Normally he shied away from physical contact but in this situation, he would have been content to stay. For another 2o minutes this continued without either speaking a word. Finally Sherlock heard a soft snore and looked down to find Erika asleep in his lap. He sighed and continued, not wanting the pain to wake her up.

The rest of the day passed without either of them moving from their place. Erika drifted in and out of sleep but Sherlock never ceased his gently massage of her head. Night came and Erika's headache visibly worsened. Sherlock got her permission to leave and get her two more aspirin which she took without question. He then resumed his former position and role and soon Erika drifted off to sleep again, not waking for the rest of the night.

When she did wake up, she found both her migraine and Sherlock gone. He head still hurt but it was more of a dull throbbing in the back of her head. She wasn't surprised by this. She had brain cancer, she almost always had a headache and she just hid it very well. Shakily, she stood, dressed and walked out to the living room where Sherlock was laying on the sofa, fast asleep. She smiled softly, knowing he'd given up a night of rest for her and even he needed sleep. Being careful not to wake him, she made herself a cup of tea and some toast, quickly and quietly consuming them both. She then quickly wrote a note, grabbed her jacket and scarf and left.

_Gone to see John and get him back in therapy_

_Thank-you for yesterday_

_Erika_

Walking west on Salisbury Place, Erika quickened her pace against the cold. Arriving at 221B she knocked and was soon met with the tired face of Mrs Hudson. On seeing Erika she let a small smile flick across her face before speaking. "He's not living her anymore, my dear."

Erika's smile fell from her face and the elderly woman continued. "Sherlock left him over £700,000 and he needed to get away from all the…reminders."

Erika's heart went out to the poor woman and she spoke. "I understand. Do you have an address?"

It wasn't a long walk to Sussex Place and Erika couldn't argue John decision to get away from Baker Street. The rooms were probably haunted with memories of failed experiments, cases and the endless search for cigarettes. She knew all of his addictions; it was written between his index and middle fingers on his right hand and in the many dotted scars that littered his left inner elbow. Her own body was cursed with the same signs of addiction but he had succeeded where she had failed. He had given up. And because of that, he would live.

Arriving at his new address, Erika knocked softly. She heard a shuffle inside and soon the door opened and a rather crazed John answered the door. He was unshaven with dark circles under his eyes. His clothes were wrinkled and he was barefoot. His cane was grasped loosely in his hand and he was visibly favouring his right arm, meaning his old war wounds had flared up. She pitied the poor man and fought the urge, as she always did, to tell him that Sherlock was alive and living 15 minutes away.

John invited her in and she followed quietly. Glancing around she saw that the flat was about the size of the one she and Sherlock now occupied, if not smaller. He offered her a seat at a small table and he sat across from her. Biting her lip, she wondered whether she should speak first and, seeing how John seemed unwilling to do so, decided for it. "How are you coping?"

John smiled weakly and sighed. "As well as I can. I had to get away from Baker Street. I couldn't do anything without thinking of him."

Erika felt her heart tearing and she resisted the urge to cry. She put a comforting hand on his shoulder, the uninjured one, as she spoke. "How's your leg?"

"Worse than ever," he answered, leaning down slightly to rub at the top of his thigh. "I can't get rid of it now."

Seeing her chance to do as Sherlock asked, she inquired, "What did you do for your leg before you met him?"

It seemed to be an unspoken rule between the two of them that they never mentioned Sherlock by name. He was always just 'him'. John took a sharp intake of breath before he spoke. "I did physiotherapy and I had a therapist but she did almost nothing."

"Perhaps…" Erika started, trying not to offend him. "Perhaps you should go back and see her."

John just stared at her. She was worried she might have over acted her part but then she saw the look on his face. He was contemplating the idea. She held onto hope that she wouldn't have to lie to him and he'd listen to her, but sadly it was not to be. "I don't need therapy. I'm coping."

"John," she said kindly, leaning in towards him. "You're not coping. You're barely surviving. You're unshaved, you're hurting and you clearly haven't slept through the night since he-"

She stopped herself, seeing John visible distress. He had averted his gaze and looked up at the corner of the ceiling, trying to hold himself together. Erika reached a hand across the table and took his hand in her own.

"John." He turned to look at her and their eyes met, green and blue, and she smiled slightly. "You need help."

He sighed and nodded his head, looking at the floor. A tear fell from his cheek and Erika stood, walked around the table, bent down and hugged him. He reciprocated and cried into her shoulder briefly. Erika allowed herself a lone tear before John managed to pull himself together enough to speak.

"I-I'm sorry," he muttered, wiping his eyes with his hands. She smiled at him sadly, signalling that it was alright. He then got up and made them both tea and they talked for hours about other things, staying away from anything related to Sherlock. They discussed Doctor Who, the clinic, each of their past relationships and, at one point, different types of tea. Erika did everything she could think of the make John smile and for a reasonably part, she was successful. She would have been happy to talk for another few hours but then her head started to hurt.

"Are you alright?" John asked, concerned by the way she suddenly flinched in pain.

"It's just a headache." John seemed to leap into doctor mode and scrutinised her.

"Do these happen often?"

"Yes, but it's alright," she answered. John didn't know that she was terminal and she certainly didn't want to tell him and bring more sorrow into his life. "It's just dehydration. I forget to eat and drink sometimes and I get headaches."

Instantly she regretted saying it. John's mind obviously jumped to Sherlock and how he would sometimes collapse from hunger or thirst and quickly Erika stood and made for the door. "Thank-you John. I'd best head home and get an aspirin. Please go back to your therapist. Goodbye."

She was barely out the door before the tears started to fall. She ran as fast as she could manage back to Thornton Place. Arriving, she saw Sherlock sitting on the sofa. She stormed in and ran to the kitchen, taking an aspirin to ease her pain. She turned and found her flatmate standing about a foot from her and she did the only thing she could think that he deserved. Sherlock recoiled from the harsh slap he received to his left cheek. His hand moved to cover it and he could taste blood in his mouth, advising him that she had cut his cheek.

"What the hell was that for!" Sherlock rarely yelled but on this occasion he felt it was warranted.

"For what you've done to him you son of a bitch!" she screamed at him, raising her left arm to slap him again. He grabbed her wrist and, as an instinct from fighting, twisted it behind her back. She let out a short shriek of pain before trying to kick him. He wrapped his arms around her, preventing any movement and waited. Soon enough she stopped fighting him and broke down in hysterics. She couldn't hold her own weight and Sherlock was the only thing keeping her up right.

He picked her up and carried her to the bedroom where he pulled back the covers and laid her on the bed. She sobbed and hugged into the pillows, unable to stop the tears or speak. Sherlock himself was fighting the urge to cry and simply said, "I'm sorry."

He turned and left the room, closing the door behind him. He could still hear her strangled sobs through the wood and he decided to take a shower. He walked into the bathroom and looked at his face in the mirror. He could already see the bruise forming on his cheek and ne ran his hand against it, testing how painful it was and was rewarded with an answer, very.

Turning on the water, Sherlock stripped and threw his clothes in a pile near the door. He then stepped into the shower, standing under the water. He knew that he water was to cold, but he made no move to adjust it, he just waited for the water to wash his guilt, anger, pain and sorrow away but it made no effort to do so. Finally, Sherlock let himself go, knowing no one alive could tell the water from the tears.


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Weeks passed and the two barely spoke to each other unless it was strictly required after that incident. Sherlock spent most of his time holed up inside, reading or thinking, hardly ever moving from the sofa. Erika spent as much time out as possible. She spent a lot of her time busking, as that was their only current source of income, and going to see John. Occasionally she'd tell Sherlock about what was happening to him but for the most part she kept her silence. She cooked for the two of them but left his meal on the table, forcing him to either move or starve. Most of the time, Sherlock chose the latter.

Erika was petrified every day that he was going to kick her out onto the street, and she'd have to find somewhere new. And as much as she hated to admit it, she enjoyed Sherlock's company but he had barely spoken in almost a month. He only talked to her when he asked about John or needed her to get him something, which was rare. She was desperate to speak. To say anything that might get him back to normal after her breakdown but she couldn't think of anything. Nervously her hand flew to her necklace and then she knew what could make him talk.

She left the kitchen and fled to the sanctuary of the bedroom where she found her bag, a large, black, leather shoulder-bag, and reached for the inner pocket. Out of it she pulled a silver chain, attached to it was the ring Sherlock had allowed her to keep when they first met. She could never bring herself to sell it because of what it meant for her, the beginning of the end.

Clutching it in her palm, Erika walked out to where Sherlock was and stood near his head. He was lying on the lounge with his eyes closed peacefully and his hands resting on his stomach. Biting her lip she looked at him and wondered whether she should disturb him. John had told her these moods could last longer than this and that was without reason for offence. She stood, nervously contemplating before he baritone broke through.

"Anytime you feel like speak." She let out a soft sigh and spoke.

"I'm sorry. My world is slowly falling to pieces and you are the easiest target. I shouldn't have hit you, or screamed at you, especially after you were so good to me previously. And John is lucky to have you; I just wish he knew he still did."

She paused and let her words sink in, allowing Sherlock the time necessary to think. When his face returned to the impassive expression it previously held, she continued. "I want to return this to you as my way of apologising."

She held out her palm where the ring and its chain sat. Sherlock opened his eyes and saw the jewellery. He immediately sat up stared at the gems, emeralds and diamonds, set in the white gold band. His eyes moved up and looked her in the eye, something he hadn't done in almost a month. She sighed and went to drop the item into his palm but he didn't move and seemed to be in a state of shock.

"I thought you'd sold it." Erika was slightly taken aback by this and she quickly explained.

"You gave this to me soon after I was diagnosed terminal. This marked my decline and all I would lose. I couldn't sell it." Her words seemed to hit at Sherlock and his eyes widened a little but Erika wasn't finished. "But I can return it."

Without letting a word pass from his lips, Erika undid the chain, pulled off the ring and slipped it onto his left, middle finger. He looked down at his hand for a while before a small smile twitched at the corner of his lips. Erika smiled childishly and returned to trying to confuse the detective. "¿Estoy perdonada?" _(Am I forgiven?)_

He nodded and she touched his left cheek gently, another subtly apology that didn't go unnoticed. She proceeded into the kitchen and made them both coffee. When she'd finished she placed his in his hands and he merely nodded as his way of thanks which was as much as she expected. Sherlock took a sip, the ring gleaming in the cold light. She smiled and they silently drained their cups. Sherlock asked for another and she took his cup, content to do whatever he asked of her. Then another detail struck her that she hadn't mentioned previous for fear he wouldn't return.

"You're out of the press." Sherlock's head snapped up and he looked at her. She bit her lip and shrugged, handing him his newly made coffee. He took it but seemed to forget its existence in his desperation to confirm what he just heard.

"Completely?"

"100%. Half the population has already forgotten Sherlock Holmes." Erika smiled sadly and sipped at her drink. His mouth twisted into a smiled and before she knew what was happening, Sherlock had grabbed his scarf and coat and left without another word. Yet somehow she couldn't bring herself to worry about him all that much. It was still early and if his mission went as she imagined it would, he'd be home by nightfall. However, Sherlock Holmes was nothing if not atypical.

3 days had passed since Sherlock's dramatic exit and Erika hadn't seen him since. She visited John each day as a comfort to herself that she could help him. He explained to her that he had gone back to his therapist who seemed to be taking the 'break and remould' approach or in John's words, "She just makes me say things I don't want to say."

That Wednesday afternoon, she returned home to Thornton Place still empty. She sat and read for a while but was soon bored by the author's stereotypical characterisations. She put the book back carefully and contemplated going out busking when she heard it, the lock being picked. She was always a little suspicious but knew it was Sherlock. She opened the door for him and he grabbed the front of her shirt. She was worried he was sick but then she saw his pupils, dilated.

"Sherlock," she said as forcefully as she could. "What did you take?"

He shook his head and focused almost all his energy on speaking. "Drugged."

At this point she panicked. Quickly she grabbed him and helped him into the bedroom and laid him down on the bed. "What did they give you? Do you know the dose? When was it?"

"1000mg…propafenone…four…hours ago."

Erika's eyes widened and she grabbed his wrist, looking for his pulse. Finally she found it. "Your pulse. 20 bpm. That can't be right! Sherlock we need to get you to hospital!"

She tried to get him to stand but he pushed her away forcefully. "No! No...can't."

"Why not?"

"Want...to know...how." Erika let out a slight shriek of frustration.

"Sherlock, you could DIE if we don't get your heart rate up! We need to go to the hospital." She made to get him up again but this time he put a hand out to her, almost pleadingly.

"Anything else. Try...anything...else."

Erika didn't know what to do. She paced the small area beside the bed and clutched madly at her hair. Her eyes were wide and she was watching Sherlock losing his battle with the drug. Just as she always had. _Wait_, she thought. "Sherlock focus on breathing. Deep and long okay? I have an…idea."

Sherlock did as she asked as she moved to her bag and rummage through it. Sherlock wasn't paying much attention to her but soon she turned around with a small purse clasped nervously in her hands. She knelt down beside Sherlock and spoke.

"I know I shouldn't have it and I'll explain why I do later. I also know I definitely shouldn't be giving it to you and I'm sorry, I am, but we need to speed up your heart."

From inside the purse Erika pulls out a syringe filled with a substance that Sherlock recognises all too well. His eyes fill with fear and he sits up, attempting to back away from her. "N-no! Something...else. Try…Something…else."

"There isn't anything else Sherlock! You either go to the hospital, you let me give you this or you die right here." Sherlock shook his head vigorously and muttered to himself. Only a few of the word Erika managed to catch, which were, "Bad...habits. Addiction... John..."

"I know, but we need to keep you alive. We can deal with your addiction later." She loaded up the syringe and held it up, flicking it. She looked at him with eyes that screamed she was sorry but she found the voice to say, "Sherlock, please. I need you're permission."

Sherlock looks from her to the syringe, unsure but then he feels the waves of the bradycardia affecting him and he nods quickly. Erika takes a deep breath and then stabs him, injecting the 7% solution of cocaine into his bloodstream and he groans. She pulls the needle out of his arm and quickly grabs his wrist. "85bpm. Okay, that's normal."

Then she looks at Sherlock and bits her lip anxiously. He looks at her curiously before he finds she's about an inch away from him with his hands held above his head. She leans forward slowly and both of their lips part slightly. Then, when she's mere millimetres away, she whispers, "I'm sorry, but I have to do this."

Out of her pocket she pulls out two pairs of handcuffs and cuffs him to the headboard of the bed before Sherlock can properly process what's happening. He attempts to pull his wrists away but they don't budge. Erika walks backwards into the corner of the room. "It's for your own good. Believe me."

"You can't just...wow." Sherlock's argument was cut short by the feeling of the cocaine talking over his body. He leant his head back in ecstasy as his mind cleared and he could see things better than before. He smiled and let the world flood into his head. His every sense went into overdrive and his mind stopped deconstructing every piece of information. He remembered all the good things about the drugs. The clarity, the freedom and the eloquence the world seemed to possess in that moment. Slowly he let his eyes open and he saw Erika, sitting in the corner of the room with her knees to her chest, watching him.

"Uncuff me."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because you'll hurt yourself," she answered quickly. He noticed that her voice was delivering this information like it was a fact whereas in reality it was merely a theory and the handcuffs were a premeditated block to this. _How clear his mind was!_ This meant that she was afraid and/or guilty. Sherlock smirked at he and she averted her eyes. _Afraid it is_.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Erika" he said as kindly as he could manage but she shook her head. Interesting that she knew he wouldn't hurt her. His smile grew wider. "Then you feel guilty."

"I saved your life." The words were all but whispered and he had trouble making the words out but when he did he knew this was also genuine. He wasn't often wrong and he liked to understand why, so as to avoid future error. "Then why?"

Erika looked back at him and he saw the tears in her eyes. She blinked them away quickly before she made to answer him. "I know I'm going to have to hurt you."

The smile on Sherlock's face disappeared as he remembered all the horror of his drug days. The withdrawal, the lows, the agony, pain, sickness and the boredom. In that instant all the happiness disappeared from his mind and turned to pure, blinding rage. He pulled at the handcuffs that held him there and he kicked and thrashed, screaming bloody murder at the woman who curled herself up in the corner.

Erika listened to him even though she could have run away. She watched his torture as a way of torturing herself, a reminder of all she had done to him and why she deserved so little. He had been strong. He had given up the cocaine where she had failed many times. She was no longer an addict, but she still needed it with her, to give her a last resort, a final escape. But now she had forced him back into the habits he had long ago left behind. She'd made him betray his friends and she tortured him with her stories of hem, thinking she could help. How naïve she had been.

And as Sherlock Holmes thrashed and cursed, handcuffed to the bed, Erika Butler cried, knowing that there was far worse still to come.


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

"Stay still! I don't want to hurt you!" Erika struggled to subdue the detective as she attempted to inject another dose of cocaine. Sherlock fought her, although he was still handcuffed, with teeth and legs and words that would make a Nazi blush. Erika held back her tears as she finally managed to get the syringe into his arm, quickly injecting the substance and then pulled herself away, in an attempt to get away from any further attacks. Sherlock however did manage to kick her in the back as she turned away and she fought the urge to cry out.

This was the third dose in 15 hours she had to give him to keep his heart rate up. However, as the drugs wore off, he became more and more violent and she was beginning to fear for both of their wellbeing. She returned to her place in the corner as Sherlock continued to thrash around and curse at her. Try as she will to block his words out, they still hurt.

Sherlock fought against all he was experiencing. He fought the addiction, the cocaine itself and, above all, he fought his restraints and his captor. He shouted abuse at her, swearing in every language he knew, and jerked against the handcuffs holding him in place. He could feel blood dripping down his arm from his resistance but he couldn't find it in himself to care. He continued to fight in his crazed state as Erika shrank into the corner, distressed and alone.

It took four more doses before the drug cleared his system, by the end of which Sherlock had been on cocaine for almost 36 hours. Erika decided it was time to do the thing she had been dreading from the first injection. Getting Sherlock Holmes clean.

"Sherlock," she said with great caution, standing far enough away that he couldn't hit her. "The propafenone's out of your system, but now we need to get you clean."

Sherlock looked up at her horrified. She understood his reasoning. Withdrawal was awful and sometimes it just seemed far too hard. "Just keep me on the cocaine."

Erika bit back tears, knowing that she had to get him clean. She had promised him she wouldn't let the addiction take him, and now she had to follow through. She went to her bag and got out the syringe, loading it up as she had previously. Sherlock watched eagerly, desperate for a fix. She got close to him and stabbed him, sending the drug into his bloodstream, but not the one he wanted.

Sherlock could almost instantly feel the sleepiness creeping over him. He tried to fight it but soon the blackness took him and he fell into unconsciousness, hearing Erika whisper in his ear, "I promised."

As soon as he was out, Erika fled from the room, dropping the syringe near the bed. She ran to the kitchen and grabbed a large garbage bag and took it into the bathroom. She then removed everything from the shelves, sweeping her arm along it and holding the bag at the end. She took every loose item from the place, soap, the bathplug and the show curtain included, and threw them all unceremoniously into the garbage bag. Then she took the bag into the living room and left it beside the desk. Then she went back into the bathroom and looked at the lock on the door. She tried to remove it but had no luck. Her anger and impatience getting the better of her, she took a step back and kicked the handle off the inside door, thus meaning the door could only be opened from the outside. Her work done, she ran back into the bedroom.

Erika looked at the still unconscious Sherlock and closed her eyes, letting a tear fall down her check. She then walked over to him and undid the handcuffs holding him to the bed slowly, ensuring he wasn't faking and about to spring at her. Nothing of that nature happened as the detective continued to sleep. She then tended to the wounds on his wrists; however, she knew she couldn't bandage them at that moment. Instead she cleaned them and prayed he didn't hurt himself any further. Then she took one of his arms and put it over her shoulder. She lifted him and carried him to the bathroom. She then laid him on the floor with some pillows and a blanket from the bedroom. She swallowed her tears and kissed him gently on the forehead before exiting the room, closing and locking the door behind her.

She couldn't bring herself to move another inch and she collapsed on the other side of the door, her legs no longer able to support her weight. She pulled her knees to her chest and leant her head against the door behind her. She let go of all the pain and guilt she'd been holding in, releasing a blood-curling shriek before breaking down into sobs. She curled up in her place and wept, allowing her body the freedom to offload all its suffering.

On the other side of the door, Sherlock was waking up. He was very quickly aware that he was no longer reasonably comfortable In bed, but was instead lying on what he thought was the bathroom floor. Tentatively he sat up and saw that he was indeed in the bathroom, but it had been stripped clean, everything removed. He felt weak and was itching for a fix and if Erika wouldn't give him one, he'd get some on his own. He stood awkwardly and walked to the door. He went to grab the handle but was met with splintered wood. Looking down he could see that the door handle had been removed, or more accurately, destroyed, by a few swift kick. Immediately he knew what she was doing, and he was infuriated.

"Erika, open the door." She heard him and was overcome with the urge to let him out, to give him anything he wanted, but she resisted, telling herself it was all for his own good. She moved so she was sitting opposite the door, knowing full well what he would try to do next.

Sherlock threw himself at the door, his shoulder making contact with the wood but the door didn't budge. He continued but the door stood resilient against him. Eventually, he gave up, feeling his body's withdrawal sneaking up on him. He yelled out to her, knowing full well she could hear him. He pounded on the door with his fists and screamed at her to let him out. Erika's only acknowledgement came in the form of strangled sobs he could hear from the other side of the door. He paused momentarily on hearing her, and pressed his ear to the door. She was falling apart. As he was listening, the first wave of nausea hit him.

Erika could hear the pain Sherlock was in. She knew all the horrible things that came with withdrawal; the nausea, headaches, fever, heart rate, vomiting and suicidal thought process. That was why she went to such extreme lengths to do what she believed was the best she could for him. She had locked him in a room that would best cater for him for the time being. A room where he could wash himself, had access to water and could deal with nausea and vomiting. She had removed anything that could do him any harm or assist him in suicide. The tiles would keep him cooled if he needed to be. She had also given him pillows and a blanket to avoid further discomfort.

She knew that what she was doing to him was for his own good and helping him, but it didn't stop her torturing herself. Erika sat, staring at the door as she heard Sherlock banging at the door and groaning in pain and discomfort. She reminded herself that every noise he made was because of her. Every scream, every yell and every retch could have been avoided if she hadn't been there. She sobbed and he screamed, their pains mixing together.

Finally Erika allowed herself some movement, but only for his benefit. Sherlock had silenced for a time and she thought that he might be sleeping. She went to the kitchen and found some ginger biscuits, painkillers and some anti-nausea tablets that would hopefully settle his stomach. Tentatively, she approached the door again, nervously biting her lip. She opened the door a fraction and peered inside, catching no sight of Sherlock. Carefully she opened the door a little wider and placed the food and tablets on the floor. She then went to close it when a pressure tried to stop her. Then she moved as far away as possible and pulled harder on the door. She could see Sherlock now, on the other side of the door trying to open it.

He opened his mouth to speak but she pushed him in the chest, having to open the door wider to do so. He stumbled back and she pulled the door closed, but not before Sherlock had slapped her, coldly and harshly, across her face. She let out a short shriek of pain before she locked the door again and pressed her hand to her cheek, crying as he screamed at her from the other side. "Bitch!"

Erika heard the sounds of a violent assault to the door and wall surrounding it. She heard him throw the biscuits against the wall but then the water running under the sink, he had taken the tablets. She allowed herself a sigh of relief at that, knowing she had finally done something that could help him. However, her pain still hung over her and she wept. Sherlock screamed and yelled from his cell, begging for release, banging his hands and forehead against the wood of the door, but she ignored him. After over eight hours of continuous noise, silence finally came from inside. Erika could hear his slow, shallow breathing and knew he'd fallen asleep.

Swiftly she flew to the kitchen and gathered the same things as before and returned. She unlocked the door and opened it the tiniest portion, slipped them inside and locked the door again before a repeat occurred. She returned to her former place on the ground across from the door and permitted herself a brief time of dreamless sleep.

Sherlock awoke drenched in sweat. The bathroom tiles were cool beneath him but he felt as though his blood was boiling in his veins. He stood shakily and pressed his ear to the door, hearing the sound of Erika sleeping lightly. He decided that even though she was cruel for locking him in here, he know it was for his own good, and he let her sleep. He then noticed the pills and biscuits lying near the door, barely inside the room. Feeling guilty he walked over to them, knowing now that she was terrified he would hurt her, and he had. He could still feel her cheek against his hand and the force of the slap still stung him. He knew it must have hurt her.

He picked them up and consumed them, dry swallowing the pills and slowly eating the three biscuits. They settled his stomach and eased his headache but he could still feel a fever raging through him. He walked slowly to the shower and turned only the cold tap on. Then he stripped and stood under the water, cooling his burning skin. He let himself relax a little bit and leant against the wall. The nausea fading away, his headache reduced to a dull ache and his fever reducing, he felt almost normal for a brief moment, before his body began to crave the needle, and his downward spiral started again.

Three more days passed with Sherlock locked inside the bathroom and Erika never leaving her spot across from the door except to get him pills and ginger biscuits. Three days where Sherlock was either banging on the door with all hell's fury, or asleep on the bathroom floor in a cold sweat. Erika forced herself to listen to him and only sleep when he did, as a punishment and a reminder of what he was going through. But she was always woken from her brief slumber by the same yelling, until 4am on Sunday.

"Erika." She awoke with a start to the noise. This wasn't like his insane screeching, this was calm and tired. She stood up slowly and walked to the door, cautious that he might be lying.

"Sherlock?" Her hand on the doorhandle, she pressed her ear to the door, waiting for a reply.

"I'm clean." She could hear the truth in his voice and without any hesitation she unlocked the door and opened it, revealing a very shabby looking Sherlock Holmes. His hair was wilder than it had ever been. His clothes were rumpled but all in all fairly clean and the wounds on his wrists still looked fresh, therefore he'd been picking at them as a distraction. The room looked a mess with a small amount of blood on the floor with pillows and the blanket discarded in the corner of the room. It was then that she realised what she'd put him through and she let a tear fall down her cheek before she ran at him and hugged him.

Sherlock didn't know how to react, so he awkwardly wrapped his arms around her waist. She cried into his shoulder, constantly muttering "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault. You saved me. Thank-you." These words made Erika's sobs harder and she pulled herself in closer to Sherlock. He held her as she cried and pulled her in tighter for reasons he didn't quite understand. Perhaps it was the lack of human contact for so long, just alone in his mind, screaming at the world or more accurately, at her. He buried his head in her neck and they stayed there for God knows how long, neither willing to let go.


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Sherlock sat in the kitchen, a cup of tea clasped between his hands and a plate of eggs in front of him. Erika was in the bathroom, putting things back together and washing for the first time in almost a week. She had insisted upon making Sherlock something proper to eat before she did so and sternly told him that if it wasn't finished by the time she got out she'd force it down his throat, however there was no chance she'd need too. Three days in solitary living of a few ginger biscuits was hardly a healthy diet. He wolfed down the eggs and tea without question.

Erika re-emerged not long after, clean and fresh with wet hair dripping onto her back. She smiled at Sherlock weakly and he reciprocated, before the smile was wiped off his face by the angry bruise that covered her left cheek with a small cut to the cheekbone. He could see it was hurting her as her smile was weaker if existent at all on the left, and he immediately felt guilty. He stood and walked to her.

"I'm sorry." He ran his fingertips gently along her cheek and Erika closed her eyes for a moment, before letting out a small sigh. She then opened her eyes and looked down at his wrists. She pulled two bandages and some antiseptic out to pockets of her jacket. She motioned for him to sit down and he obeyed. She put the medical equipment on the table and took away his plate and mug, clearly happy that both were empty. She rinsed them in the sink and returned quickly, sitting opposite him.

"Give me your wrist." Sherlock obliged and she quickly cleaned to wounds to his hand and arm, and then bandaged them tightly. She did the same for his other wrist, a look of pain and guilt in her eye. He could see how much she was resenting herself and he felt the need to resolve it. "You were right to do what you did."

Erika met his eye before she looked back at the bottle of antiseptic, finding its ingredients suddenly immensely interesting. Sherlock stood up and walked so that he was next to her. He knelt down to her level, as if she was a small child. He gazed at her intently but she refused to meet his eye. Growing impatient, he spoke again. "Erika."

She turned to look at him and he leant forward, gently brushing his lips against her right cheek in a soft kiss. He could feel her cheek grow hot under his lips and smiled a little. He leant back and found her looking at him with a curious gaze. He tried to be as warm as he could which clearly wasn't very much. Erika was waiting for him to finish and he spoke. "Thank-you."

"I'm so sorry, Sherlock. I'm so sorry." She let a tear fall down her cheek and she pulled him toward her for a soft hug, short and sweet. Then she seemed to pull herself back together and she looked at him with a very real smile. "It can't have been very comfortable on the floor, go to bed and sleep."

"What about you?" Sherlock knew that she hadn't slept at all since his withdrawal started, she would be more tired than he was. "I'll be fine, go and sleep."

He did as she asked and preceded to bed, despite it being 9 o'clock in the morning. He was just drifting off to sleep when he heard the bedroom door creak open and Erika tip-toed in, clearly believing him to be asleep, rummaged through her bag, and eventually finding what she was looking for. Sherlock only caught a glance of it before she disappeared. The cigarette was grasped between her fingertips as she closed the door behind her and Sherlock smiled, making a note to ask her about it when he woke. Then he gave in to his body's desires and slept.

Sherlock slept until the following morning, giving himself the rest he needed. Erika never entered the room unless she had to, either to get something or check that he was alright. She rarely smoked anymore, except when she was stressed and this was one of the most stressful moments of her life. Standing in the doorway, half in the street, she took a long drag of the cigarette clamped between her fingers and breathed out with a slight smile. She always enjoyed the first, but the second and third always brought more pain than it was worth. She bit down on the end of it as she took another deep breath in. She let it out again and heard a sharp intake of breath behind her.

She whipped around and saw Sherlock standing with a smirk on his face, almost as if to say _I win_. She raised an eyebrow and him as she inhaled again. "Smoking is and awful habit Miss Butler."

She laughed at that, smoke rolling off her lips. "I'm going to be dead before it can have any real effect, and besides," she breathed in again, exhaling delicately, "I rarely smoke."

"Clearly," Sherlock answered before he took the cigarette from her fingers, inhaled one short breath of it before dropping it to the ground and stepping on it to put it out. Then he turned back inside. Erika followed suit, shutting the door behind them. Sherlock had already deposited himself on the sofa, his legs stretching the full length of it and his hands resting under his chin in his usual prayer position. Craving a change and revenge after the loss of her cigarette, Erika sat on the floor at the leg of the couch closest to his feet, leaning her head back.

Sherlock was aware of the change but he did nothing to avoid or alter it, instead remaining in his place. Erika picked her book up off the floor where it had been previously sitting and began to read. For a moment it was like nothing had changed and had someone walked in, the scene would have looked quite homely. However, there were answers that he was desperate to get from her.

"Why did you have it?" Not even opening his eyes, he could tell that Erika had frozen, flinching then freezing into place. He heard the rustle of pages and knew she was putting down her book. He waited for her answer which came in to form of three short words not uncommon to his tongue. "Does it matter?"

"I think so." Sherlock dreamily opened his eyes and they connected with hers, diamonds and emeralds meeting. Then Erika broke the gaze, looking down at Sherlock's ring before she continued. "We all have our vices, Sherlock. Yours and mine are more similar than you think."

"How long?"

"I managed to ween myself off it slowly over a year ago, soon after I got my diagnosis, but I can't go anywhere without it. It makes me feel…comfortable. To know that I have an escape right in my hand should I need it."

Sherlock looked at her stonily, his eyes never leaving her, analysing every inch of her to see if she was telling the truth. He wasn't certain why he cared so much be he had decided to amuse himself before the thought even crossed his mind. He couldn't find all the data because of her sleeves, covering her elbow, but she seemed to notice.

Almost immediately after finishing, Erika rolled up her left sleeve, showing Sherlock the long ago healed scars from a needle used with trembling fingers, eager for the release that it brought. When he was satisfied he nodded and she rolled down her sleeves and went to pick up her book, before realising the time. She jumped up and ran to get her bag.

"Sherlock, I have to go and see John. I haven't seen him in almost a week and I don't want him to get lonely or isolated. I'll be back when I can. Don't cause too much trouble." Then she was gone. Slightly shocked but hardly shaken, he returned to his mental scrutiny of all the little details people usually lance right over, not realising their true importance and significance. Soon he grew bored with himself and went to make tea.

After he did, and drained the cup, he went to his desk, deciding to see if anything and occurred recently in the world of any significance or importance, that is, in his mind. On finding nothing he found himself drifting away from the news and police to John's blog. There he found a new entry, updated only a few minutes ago, detail his most recent meeting with Erika:

_**Inescapable**_

_I have recently written about a young woman who has been visiting me recently, an old friend of his. She has been helping me cope with losing him and, as I previously wrote, has become a great friend to me. However, I must now deny any positive message that was made about her as she is not an ally, but an enemy. She used to work for HIM._

_She arrived slightly shaken and I invited her in. I made tea and we talked for a while before we got onto the topic of Sherlock, as we always do sometime. This time we discussed the way the media was twisted against him. She wasn't aware of any of it so I explained it to her. I told her all about Kitty Reiley, Richard Brook and Moriarty. She didn't know the names…until I mentioned him._

_On hearing the name Moriarty she jumped, spilling her tea. She ran to get a cloth to mop up the spilt liquid but I knew something was strange. I questioned her and she, albeit accidently, mentioned that at one point she worked for Moriarty. I was infuriated. I screamed at her and told her to leave and not come back. If she did, so help me I could kill her._

_She left, crying and apologising, and disappeared. If I ever see her again it will be too soon. She worked for Moriarty, and Moriarty took my best friend from me. I never want to hear his name, or hers, again._

Sherlock was shocked. She worked for Moriarty. Perhaps she still did. Had he really been so easily taken in? Irene had succeeded but surely he couldn't be fooled twice. But John was never fooled. Despite the idiocy he'd been labelled with, he was an incredibly good judge of character, and yet, he'd been trapped by this woman. Still, Sherlock had seen her do things he found it hard to imagine many doing. She was an addict, and perhaps this was just a game.

Then he heard the sound of the lock being picked. He jumped to the door and opened it, revealing a dishevelled and visibly distressed Erika, but Sherlock wasn't one for sympathy. He grabbed the front of her jacket and pulled her to the desk. He let out a shriek of pain and protest but he ignored her. He threw her down in the chair and showed her the blog. She read it silently and burst into sobs. Sherlock spun the chair around and she looked at him through tear stained eyes. "Get out."

"Please!" she screamed at him as he turned his back on her, content to leave her to suffer alone. "Please, just let me explain!"

"Why should I?" He spun to face her, leaning down and very close to her, so that their faces were almost touching.

"Because you want answers, and I can give you some. Please."

Sherlock stood up and walked to the sofa. He sat down and faced her on the chair. "Don't be boring."

She smiled. "I swear it."


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

**18 months earlier**

Erika walked along the side of the road, still dressed in her uniform from the party she'd just left, black, mid-thigh dress, dark tights, heels and a white belt around her waist. In her hand she clasped a small clutch purse that contained her fortune for the evening, stolen off a pair of twin sisters who were too busy flirting with every wealthy man under 25 that passed them by to notice their disappearance. A set of diamond necklaces and silver, diamond studded bracelets had now found their way into her possession, and Erika couldn't be happier.

Tired from a long shift on her feet, she decided on a cab. She hailed one and gave the driver her address. She caught a glimpse of him in the rear view, deep brown eyes and a slightly sunken face. He had a cap on a head of well-cut, dark brown hair and clothes that looked far to clean to be as inexpensive as they looked. He smiled at her and they pulled away.

Erika didn't really pay attention to where the cap was taking her, until she noticed him drive passed her street, obviously not looking for it. She was about to make a sound of protest when something hit her on the back of her head. She watched the world blur around the edges and the cabbie turned to face her, his true intent now clear. That was the last thing she remembered before she let the darkness swallow her whole.

She opened her eyes slowly, completely aware that she had been kidnapped. She took a moment to take in her surroundings, noticing that she was lying on a fairly comfortable bed in what appeared to be a hotel room. She was still in her waitressing outfit, which was mildly comforting, but he bag was gone. Immediately she sat up and scanned the room for the purse, on finding nothing she assumed her kidnapper had taken it. Irritated, but not to annoyed, she turned to look for a way out, when she saw the doorhandle turn on the door.

She recognised him immediately. He was the same man who had driven her here but he was now much better dressed. He was wearing what appeared to be a Vivienne Westwood suit with tie that had small skulls printed on them in spots. He walked like he had all the authority in the world, which in his mind he probably did, but Erika wasn't going to let him take her anywhere without a fight. She was planning her attack when he spoke.

"Miss Butler. I assume you know who I am." His stuck-up manner was met with silence and a moderately confused expression. He smiled slightly before continuing. "Jim Moriarty. Hi."

Erika shuddered at the eerie, sing-song quality his voice took on. However, she tried not to let it bother her and instead focused on his words. "I'm what I like to call a consulting criminal. I stage any crime needed for anyone, provided they pay of course. My organisation contains the best in the world, and no one ever gets to me."

"And you felt the need to abduct me because…?" Erika didn't have to try hard to keep her voice from shaking as, in her mind, the man before her wasn't all that frightening. He was powerful, no doubt, but that doesn't mean anything, not in the real world.

"Because I have become aware of your, shall we say, talents?" From his suit pocket he pulled out the jewellery that night's heist had earned. He threw it at her and she caught it, surprised he was giving it back. She was processing this as he continued his explanation. "Therefore I would like to offer you a position in my organisation."

Erika let out a laugh. Moriarty looked at her, clearly annoyed by this reaction. She brought her eyes back to meet his. She stood up, tentatively getting off the bed, and walked a little closer to this man. She looked him right in the eye, smiled and said with all the power she had, "No."

She then tried to, calmly, walk passed him o the door, prepared to leave, but Jim hated being told _no_. He always got what he wanted and he wanted her on his side. He grabbed her by the arm, holing her too tight, and spun her around so they were almost nose to nose, but Erika wasn't as afraid as he thought she would be. But he could work with feisty. It always made things more fun.

"You haven't even heard any of the offers yet."

"I don't care. I work alone, and I work for myself. I don't need someone telling me what to steal and when to do it. Act on whim, not order." Erika knew she was dying. The doctor had told her only last week. Two years, maximum and there was no way she was going to spend the rest of her life being ordered around by someone who thought he knew best. No way.

She and Jim's faces were an inch from each other's and she smirked at him. Moriarty merely stood bewildered. He wasn't often tongue tied but this young woman seemed to have the power to do so. However, he wanted her, and her wanting to be there just made things easier but there were always other options. Quickly he closed the gap between them and kissed her roughly on the mouth. She pushed him away and stepped back.

"What the hell!" She wiped her mouth, only then noticing the slight colouring, like rubbed off lipstick, only she wasn't wearing any. Then she understood. The wave of exhaustion hit her like a bus and she blinked heavily. Her drug habit gave her some resistance, but not enough to take all of this for long. She was trying to stay awake when the Irish voice cut through the fog in her mind.

"I know it's stereotypically a female weapon but it was this or I had to hit you again." He watched as Erika fell back onto the bed, clearly trying to fight the drug now in her system. It was also clear that she was losing. "Plus, this is a lot more fun!"

Erika lay there as the room spun and Moriarty's voice became further and further away. Finally she submitted to the drug, no longer able to find the strength to fight it. She drifted into unconsciousness, hearing the soft whistling of 'Boys and Girls come out to play'.

The next time Erika awoke, she was in a very different situation. She didn't have to open her eyes to know that she was tied to a chair, with ropes tying her ankles to the chair and her wrist behind her back, cutting into her flesh. She also was aware that she had been stripped naked. She could smell the moisture and must in the air, plus the rust from pipes long left alone. She slowly opened her eyes and saw she was in a maintenance room in what appeared to be an abandoned factory. The cool air nipped at her skin and she waited for her host to make his dramatic entrance. It wasn't a long wait.

Moriarty walked into the room slowly, still whistling from before. He stood so that he was standing about five paces from her. His eyes wandered down her body and Erika immediately felt exposed. Soon he came back to meet her eye and smiled. She glared at him with all the malice she had and his smile grew. "I know it was rather rude of me to kiss and run as they say, but I don't often hear the word no."

He walked forward so he was leaning over her. His mouth was at her ear and she shuddered, feeling his hot breath on her neck. He whispered to her, "do you want to know a secret?"

Erika kept her silence and Jim came back so that he was in front of her. He then slapped her across the face, hard. She could taste the blood in her mouth as he finished his sentence. "I don't like it."

He leant forward, as though he was talking to a child. "Now, Erika dear, I'm going to give you one last chance before things get nasty. Come and work for me. We'd make a fortune!"

"Go to Hell." Moriarty slapped her again and Erika spat out the blood in her mouth, aiming for his shoes but missing by a margin. The he stepped back and snapped his fingers. Immediately a tall, broad, blonde man walked into the room. It was obvious he'd been in the army from the tattoos on his arm, his tan and his stance. Moriarty merely nodded in Erika's direction and the man came to stand in front of her.

"This is Colonel Sebastian Moran. He's going to help you come to your senses. Begin." Immediately, Erika was met with a swift kick to the stomach and she gasped in surprise and pain. Moran did this over and over until she was gasping for air, failing to get any. He beat every inch of her body, slapping, kicking, punching and beating her within an inch of her life. It could have been hours, it could have been weeks, before Moriarty came forward. He stood in front of her, avoiding the blood stains on the floor, and asked her again. "Ready to co-operate?"

To answer him, Erika first spat the blood from her bleeding gums and cheeks onto the floor. "Not on your life."

As soon as she said that, Moran regained his previous attack, but Moriarty stood there, unmoving for a long time. He simply stared at the bloodstains on the floor, both dried and fresh, and thought. Then finally he said a word that was clearly unfamiliar to Moran. "Stop."

Amazed, Moran did so. Erika looked up at him, equally surprised. Jim motioned for him to leave and he did so silently. Then he turned his attention back to the girl now covered in blood, sweat and bruises. She stared at him almost blankly, but the surprise was still there in her eyes. Then, he spoke. "I'm willing to cut a deal."

Erika tilted her head back and looked at the man in a downward manner. She furrowed her brow slightly and attempted to raise an eyebrow. The pain that caused her was obvious and she withdrew the idea, replacing it instead with words. "I'm listening."

"I'm willing to let you avoid my employment if you take something for me."

"What do you want me to pinch?"

"The Duchess of York had a very expensive diamond, ruby and onyx jewellery set and it matches my eyes so…"

"That's…" Erika began, hesitant as to how to put this so that she didn't get killed. "a little out of my usual range."

"I know. But you will do it, or…I haven't decided yet but I'll think of something." He untied the ropes around her wrists and she immediately stretched her harms. Moriarty called to Sebastian and told him to get Erika's clothes. He did, bringing back her waitress clothing, and she was told to dress quickly. She did so to the best of her ability before she was whisked away again and taken to a large house on the outskirts of Cambridge. Here she was lead to a room which she was told was hers until she pulled off her job and was let out of her employment. Sebastian told her to clean herself up, dress appropriately and then meet Jim in his office.

As soon as she was left alone, Erika ran herself a bath and stepped in, watching in horror as the water fast was tinged pink. She hissed as the water cleaned the various wounds, pain shooting through her, but she forced herself to stay in the warm water for a little longer. Then she washed her hair with what she knew to be the shampoo from her flat. She walked back into the room and found clothes in the drawers in the dresser. She selected black, leather jacket, blue scarf, black jeans and heeled boots as they hid most of her disfigurements. Then she walked out of the room with as much pride as she could muster and strode into Moriarty's office.

He glanced up from the desk where he was sitting with a large file of Chinese smugglers open in front of him. He waved his hand in the direction of a chair and she sat, waiting for him to speak. After almost five minutes of silence, he did. "Miss Butler. I need you to sign these forms. Read them if you must, and then we shall formulate a plan."

She glanced over the papers he threw in her direction, noting the various details and loopholes he'd put in there to protect himself and the ones she could use to escape. Then she signed them and passed them back to him. It was then Jim began to explain his plot for the capture of these gems.

"I have organised for you to be a waitress at the next party which The Duchess will be attending, obviously wearing those jewels. You are to take them at your first opportunity. You are then to remain a short while to avoid suspicion, then you leave. You will then bring the jewels here. After that you are free to take your things and do as you please. My name will only be remembered by a whisper from your colleagues."

"Or the scars on my back," Erika muttered as she went through the scenarios in her head. They all seemed fairly straight forward. She then got up to leave, returning to her room as she wasn't permitted to leave the premises until then, when he stopped her, leaning forward to hold her in her seat. She resumed her place. "Is there something else?"

"There is a man called Sherlock Holmes who will try to find you, and I have no doubt he will succeed. If you mention me, you will be killed. Is that understood?"

"Indeed. May I leave?"

His only answer was a nod toward the door. He left and retired to her room, not leaving it unless she was called to do so. She waited for the day of the party to arrive so that she could do what she did best, prey on the weak and airy.

The party came around very quickly and all went as planned. She dropped off the jewels at the house and collected her things, plus a decent pay cheque, and left. The following day she received a text message from an unknown number that simply read:

_Sherlock on the case. Say a word and you're dead. JM_

And that was the last that Erika ever heard of Jim Moriarty.


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Sherlock listened in silence as Erika finished her story. She tried not to leave anything out, no matter how painful or embarrassing it was for her. She concluded and he sat silent and motionless, no doubt putting the details together in his head. She waited as patiently as she could, yet she was still anxious, not wanting to leave. After a good 15 minutes, Sherlock stood and walked into the bedroom. He came out soon after, holding Erika's bag.

"Get out." Erika sprang up at this.

"Why!"

"Because Moriarty was the most formidable criminal mind in history and this story rings with his flairs and tales."

"And because of his theatrics, you don't believe me!"

"You have a story. Nothing more."

Erika paced the room with her hands clasping at fistfuls of her hair. She breathed heavily, clearly infuriated and scared. Then she seemed to have a revelation. She stopped and removed her hands from her head. Her back was to him, but Sherlock could clearly make out what she said. "You want proof, is that right? I think this shall suffice."

Before he could react, Erika pulled her shirt up over her head, standing now only in her bra and jeans. Then she took a deep breath and turned around to face him. Sherlock inhaled sharply when he saw her.

Across her breastbone, the initials _JM_ stood white against her skin. He could see the slices around where the knife hadn't cut quite as deep but still deep enough to leave an impression. She had scars from cuts on her stomach and chest, the small, white marks evidence of a violent past. Then Erika stepped forward and grabbed one of Sherlock's hands. She pressed it onto the scars on her chest and held it there.

"I know you can tell it's over a year old. And unless you think I did all of this to myself, I'm not lying." She moved her hands away but Sherlock's remained, tracing the lines the madman's knife had left there all that time ago. He knew she was telling the truth. He moved his hand slowly away, running it across her shoulder and down her arm. He could feel all the little bumps from where the knife had pierced her flesh. But then he reached her inner elbow, and felt all the tiny little scars that sat there, a reminder of her mistakes.

"Is this why you had the cocaine?" he asked, holding her elbow in his hand. She let her head fall, clearly ashamed. "It used to be, not anymore."

"Then why did you have it?"

"It was my escape, should I need it." After she said this, Erika pulled away from Sherlock and put her shirt back on, now convinced that he knew that her story was true. She then went to the kitchen and made them both tea while Sherlock remained, unmoving, in the centre of the room.

She soon returned and handed him his cup which he took. She sat on the sofa but Sherlock stayed on his feet. Eventually he turned to her and asked, "Why did he do that to you?"

"He said he wanted people to know who to return the body to. Also he wanted me to remember that, even after all the effort I put into fighting, I sill belong to him."

She sipped at her tea and averted her eyes, signalling that the conversation was over. However, Sherlock didn't understand many of these social stopping points and continued his interrogation of the woman who seemed to become more and more fascinating the more he got to know of her. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Erika looked at him with a smirk that read as clear as day _why do you think?_ Sherlock knew that she was implying to his reaction just mere minutes previous, yet he couldn't comprehend how she could have guessed those responses. "You couldn't have known that was how I would react."

"Yes I could," she said, leaning forward. "I knew as soon as I read John's blog about what happened to you when I first broke in here. I knew as soon as you collapsed not long after we started living here and you were screaming at Moriarty through your fever. I knew as soon as you started going out for days on end looking for Moran. At every moment I knew I could never tell you the truth because you'd hate me and I'd die alone."

Erika let her head fall, looking down at the steam swirling in her tea, hoping that Sherlock wouldn't notice the tears that now dropped into the cup, making ripples around the impact spot on the surface. Sherlock did notice and silenced himself, ignore the millions of other questions he desperately now wanted to ask her. He found that he couldn't bring himself to hurt her now, while she was so vulnerable, and this surprised him. Yet they sat in silence for a few moments before a voice laced with sadness cut through it.

"With all that said," Erika continued as if there was never any pause. "I would never have had John know. I would rather have cut of my arm than have him know, but I let it slip. I can't blame him for hating me. I didn't have time to explain before he threw me out but it's not his fault. He lost his best friend to Jim Moriarty and I don't think he wants the reminder."

Sherlock smiled slightly. "Moriarty lies six feet under and yet he still manages to hurt us."

Erika smiled a little. "He had a talent, horrible as it is, and now we're both exiled. I want to go and see John again."

"Me too." At hearing Sherlock admit this, something he had clearly tried to hide, Erika put her cup on the ground and grabbed Sherlock's hand, pulling him to sit on the sofa beside her. When he did she took his cup, empty now, and placed it beside hers, then she pulled him close in an awkward hug. She rested her head on his shoulder and wrapped her arms around him. Sherlock was unsure what to do so he wrapped and arm around her shoulders. They remained there for a long while, both silently wishing that time could be written again, saving them from the hell they now lived.

Soon after, Erika retired to bed, exhausted by her day both physically and emotionally. Sherlock bade her goodnight, brief as it was, and remain on the sofa, his mind powering him into a long tunnel of thought. He ran through countless corridors in his mind palace, passed rooms dedicated to Mrs Hudson, Lestrade and John. He lingered near John's, but dared not to open the door, knowing the stabbing pain that came with every glance at that room. He walked further and further down the corridor, beyond Mycroft and Moriarty's rooms and found one small room he'd never seen before. Curious, he opened it and stepped inside.

In every room in his mind palace, everything was neat as a button. Nothing was out of place because if it was, he couldn't find it. However, this room was positively a mess. He looked at everything he could and soon came to the conclusion that Erika had made enough of an impact in his life, that she now had a room in his most intimate of places.

The room itself looked much like to room he now, physically, resided. He looked at all the books, many tilted with the spines broken off. His was odd for him. Sherlock Holmes remembered every detail but this indicated that he hadn't paid the slightest attention to the books she was reading. Occasionally some of the spines could be made out but the text was blurred and chipped. He pulled one of the books off the shelves and flipped through its pages, each one white without a mark on them. Intrigued by this lack of knowledge, he continued his investigation.

Some of her clothes were strewn about the floor. He could see every pair of jeans, every jacket, every shade of make-up and type of perfume she had ever worn in front of him. Each piece was in perfect condition however, he knew that the room ought to be more organised. Still curious he looked further around the room.

Instead of blank walls, they were now covered with their every conversation, scribbled in blue and black ink all over the cream paint. The handwriting wasn't his own, but hers, filling up every corner. He could read their every argument, every exchange of greetings and stranger still, every song they had every performed together was written on staves along the wall, following the text. He had to admit that, although much messier than he would have liked, it was a beautiful room to be in. Then he turned and saw her.

Against the wall stood Erika, frozen in time. She was making tea and held a teacup in her hand. She was smiling a little, laughing at her own private joke, as she prepared them both the beverage. He walked around her and saw that, unlike everything else in the room, Erika was completely clear. Every detail was exact and perfect. She stood before him as she would in real life and then it hit Sherlock what all this meant.

Details were fading away into dust and yet he could remember every inch of her anatomy. Every word she ever spoke and every note that left her lips as his violin played below her. Sherlock knew that he had to keep himself distant, but not so much as she would suspect anything, just enough so that he wouldn't make mistakes. His promise made, he remained in the room, unable to bring himself to leave such a beautiful, albeit confusing, place.


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

The days passed normally after that, only Erika didn't leave as often. Without John to visit, she spent more of her time either reading or busking to pass the time. Sherlock kept looking for leads, any clue as to where Sebastian Moran may now reside, but he felt an added reason to hunt him down. Pure, unadulterated revenge for his flatmate. Something he had never really longed for previously but now found he grinned at the thought of it.

Days turned into weeks and soon it was almost a month since Erika had last seen John. She felt horrible about what she had done to him but there now that she could do, so she tried to accept it, burying herself in the books and the music as she had done for so long to ignore her illness. Occasionally she would be bed-ridden; her headaches too much to bear and Sherlock would massage her scalp in an effort to ease the pain. The pair took care of one another which was why Erika reacted the way she did when Sherlock returned late one evening looking worse for wear.

She was doing the dishes for the day when she heard Sherlock pick the lock and enter the flat. She turned to face him as he attempted to walk passed unnoticed, and immediately she knew why. "You're hurt."

Sherlock huffed. "I'm fine."

Again he tried to get away, turning his back to her but with his coat off this didn't do any good and Erika could clearly see the bloodstains seeping through the shirt. "You're bleeding."

"That's what you would expect to do from open wounds."

"Sherlock..."

"What?" he said, turning to face her, annoyance clear in his eyes. She looked at him disapprovingly; put down the dishtowel she was holding and approached him. She looked him over and saw the wounds along his arms and on his face, also noting the bloodstains on his shirt. Greatly concerned by this, she addressed him. "At least let me clean you up a little. Stop them getting infected."

Sherlock let out a sigh, annoyed but defeated. "If you must."

"Good," she said, a smile clear on her face. She steered him into a chair at the table and sat him down. "Now sit down here while I go and get some things to clean you up."

She left the room, headed to the bathroom and returned promptly carrying and hand towel and bowl half-filled with hot water. She placed them all on the table then turned to Sherlock. She then said clear as day, "Shirt, off. Now."

Sherlock was a little taken aback but dare not argue with the woman and took off his shirt as Erika dipped the cloth into the bowl. She then rinsed it out a little before turning back to her patient. "Give me your arm."

Sherlock held out his arm and Erika pressed the cloth to a large, deep cut on his bicep. As she did so, he hissed in pain, trying to flinch away from the source of his discomfort but she held him there, not letting him move, although she was quick to apologise.

"Sorry but I need to clean the wound. Trust me, better now than later."

"Don't feel obliged to talk."

She heard the blunt tone in his voice and decided it was better to agree. She nodded and continued her work in silence. She began tending to his wounds, slowly working up his arm and after finish that began his other arm. Following this she moved onto the various gashes on his chest and stomach. As she pressed the cloth to a large wound along his rib, Sherlock hissed curse.

"Don't be such a child."

"It HURTS."

"Tough."

Sherlock glared down at her. "I thought nurses were meant to be kind and charitable."

"I'm not a nurse. I'm a street performer."

He smirked. "True."

She moved on to his back and saw what looked like hundreds of long, knife cuts along the length of his back. She gasped softly. On hearing her reaction, Sherlock answered the unspoken question.

"Slight miscalculation."

"Slight? You look like you've backed into a shredder!"

"It wasn't anything quite that dramatic. I just turned my back at the wrong moment and he got me with a pitchfork."

"A pitchfork?" He could hear some concern raising in her voice.

"Yes. That's what I said."

"Was it near gravel?"

"Yes, what's your point?" annoyance taking over his voice.

"My point is there's about to be a lot of pain. Wait here."

She left and returned soon holding a pair of tweezers.

"I need to get the little pieces of rock out of the cuts in your skin and then wash it. This..." she paused, biting her lip. "This is going to hurt."

She began her task, being as gentle as she could as Sherlock twitched and jerked in pain and discomfort, occasionally letting out curses and hisses of pain. After an agonising five minutes of picking, Erika put both the cloth and tweezers down and let out a sigh.

"All finished!"

"Brilliant," he answered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Erika however chose to ignore this snub on his part and continued as if she hadn't been interrupted.

"Now I just need to bandage you up." She began this task before she said, as a sort of afterthought. "And you're not to leave this house for the next 3 days."

"I have things to do."

"You're dead. Enjoy it for a while."

Erika finished bandaging his wounds and helped him walk to the sofa, despite his constant muttering that he was fine. Sherlock lay down and she gave him instructions. "Now, sleep. Or at least humour me and lie down for an hour okay?"

"Fine."

Two days passed and Sherlock flat out refused to sleep a wink. He kept telling Erika that it was the pain and she knew that this was, for he most part true. This was why Sherlock was surprised when she returned home holding a bag from a bottle shop. Sherlock looked at her with an annoyed smile.

"Having a party whilst I lay here in pain."

"Nope," she answered simply and sat at the table. Then she pulled a bottle of vodka and two shot glasses out of the bag and placed them on the table, all in the centre. "Relieving pain."

"How exactly?" Sherlock said, getting up and sitting across from her. She simply held up the bottle in an overly dramatic manner.

"Poor man's pain killer." She said as she unscrewed to bottle and filled both shot glasses. Then she pushed one towards him. He raised an eyebrow at him. "Why should I?"

"To prove you're better than me." Sherlock leant forward slightly at this. She copied him and smiled. "Here's the game. We drink. Last one conscious wins."

Sherlock smiled and shook his head. Then he looked up at her and found she already held her shot in her hand. "Sherlock, either you help me drink this, or I'm going to have to do it alone, and tomorrow that won't be much fun for either of us."

He tentatively reached for the glass and held it at eye level, looking for any kind of film or powder that would indicate a poison. On finding none he looked back up at her to find her smiling at him, patiently waiting for him to finish his close examination. She raised an eyebrow at him and lifted her glass to her lips, downing the liquid in one mouthful. Sherlock followed suit, licking his lips to ensure none of the alcohol escaped.

He winced slightly at the drink's strength and she laughed, a large grin spreading across her face. He looked up with a raised eyebrow, noticing she didn't even grimace. He was about to ask when she answered his unspoken question. "Russian mother, I've drunk vodka like this since I was twelve. Round two?"

He nodded and she poured two more shots, spilling it slightly on the table but neither of them cared, both determined to beat the other. This time neither of them spoke as they both swallowed simultaneously, slamming their glass back down on the table as a manner of expressing the strength of the alcohol.

This continued for another fifteen minutes, by which point half the bottle was gone. Erika smirked at him as she poured their 13th drink, noticing the slight shake in Sherlock's right hand. "Ready to surrender?"

"Never," he said with a laugh and grabbed the next glass. They both downed them, Erika licking the inside of the glass to ensure she missed none. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at this.

"I must say," he muttered as she poured them another drink. "You hold your liquor rather well."

"Russian," she said. Rolling the 'r' to make it sound more foreign and, he had to admit, sexy. Sherlock picked up his glass and waited for her to do the same. This time however, Erika had another trick. She lowered her head and bit the rims of the glass. Then she tilted her head back, letting the liquid run into her mouth. She then pulled in out of her mouth and licked the insides again. Sherlock simply sat, stunned. She smiled and nodded at the shot in his hand. "Are you gonna drink that? Because if not..."

Sherlock didn't have to be told twice. He brought the glass to his lips and swallowed the vodka slowly, enjoying the burning sensation it sent down his throat. He smiled and licked his lips in the hope of finding more of the alcohol. His search was fruitless.

By this time, Erika had already poured their drinks. She brought hers to her lips and Sherlock did the same, both drinking at the same time. She put the glass down, and then leant forward. "Sherlock?"

"Mmhm," he hummed in response.

"Sorry." As soon as she said that he could feel the drug taking effect in his bloodstream. He made to stand but two hands firmly help him down in his chair. He looked up and glared at her, knowing that this was her plan from the start. Get him wasted enough that he wouldn't notice her drugging his drink, he would have noticed sober. Smart, he had to admit. However, he wasn't in the right mind frame to admire her at that point.

Erika put his arm around her shoulder and with surprising strength, managed to hoist and support him to the bedroom. She then helped him lay down and covered him with blankets. Sherlock tried to fight but all his attempts were in vain. He felt as though his limbs were made of lead, mostly because of the drug but he was sure the alcohol wasn't doing him any favours either. Eventually, he gave up the battle and fell into a dreamless sleep.


	14. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Sherlock Holmes was awoken the next morning by one of the most painful things he had ever experienced. Erika ran into the room and pulled open the curtain, revealing the bright light previously hidden behind it.

"Good Morning, Sherly!" At this point, Sherlock rolled over in an attempt to keep himself in the dark but found that instead he rolled onto the floor, his sheet still around him. He swore loudly before pulling a pillow off the bed and covering his head, muffling his words to her. "What drug did you use to do this to me?"

He could hear her smile as she crept up behind him and spoke directly over his ear. "Honey, the drug would have worn off about two hours ago. What you are experiencing now are the after effects of supreme alcoholism."

Sherlock groan and pulled the pillow tighter over his head as she continued her taunting of him. "You, Sherlock Holmes, the greatest detective of the modern age, are hung-over."

She burst into a fit of giggles as Sherlock attempted to throw a pillow at her. She dodged it easily and pulled him up, making him stand. "What you need is black coffee and painkillers."

Erika dumped him at the kitchen table and closed all the curtains. Her teasing was done and now she was going to help him. She made him coffee and herself some tea. She set them both down on the table along with a couple of tablets which Sherlock swallowed without question. He then downed half the coffee in his cup as Erika sat across from him, smirking and sipping her tea. He glared at her.

"Why don't you have a hangover?" She smiled at him and took another small sip of her drink before answering him.

"I told you last night, if you remember, that I drank like this since I was twelve. I have a higher alcohol tolerance."

"Of course I remember," Sherlock muttered gruffly, drinking more of his coffee. She smirked at him from across the table, unable to control herself in the humour of the situation. Before he sat possible the smartest man on the planet with perhaps a few exceptions and through the use of a few to many shots of vodka, he was reduced to the level of any other man after a big night. They both finished their drinks and Erika made Sherlock some more coffee. The rest of the day passed similarly with Erika tormenting him every now and then.

After that incident, Sherlock didn't move from his spot on the sofa for a long time, to enrapt in his thoughts to really process that there was anything else to do. He was also under house arrest by Erika for the next day or two until his injuries healed up a little better. And so, he found himself sitting on the couch for longer and longer, not coming back to reality until Erika walked in and said exasperatedly, "Seriously?"

Sherlock head snapped up and he made eye contact with her. "What?"

"You've been sitting there for 3 days! I haven't seen you move in two."

"So?" Sherlock replied, indignant.

"So," Erika said, continuing his remark. "That's not healthy."

Sherlock sighed, returning to his original position. "You're worse than John."

"Really? I'm flattered."

Sherlock turned away from her and curled up so that his back was to her with his knees pulled up to his chest. Erika let out a sigh before walking away, soon returning with some clothes, his scarf and coat."

"Put these on, we're going out."

He turned to face her at this; or at least rotated his head so he could see her. "Why should I?"

"Because I told you too. Get dressed and get up." Then she stalked closer to him and whispered in his ear so that he could feel her breath on his cheek. "We're. Going. Out."

Erika then left, going into the bathroom and shutting the door behind her. Sherlock thought for a moment, contemplating her proposal before deciding it might be easier to cooperate. He grabs the clothes she put out for him and dresses quickly. When she returns, now wearing some light make-up, he's fully clothed and looking respectable. She looked him up and down quickly and smiled.

"Good, now let's go. We'll get a cab." She opened the door, grabbed her bag and walked out, waiting for Sherlock to do the same, however, he has more questions.

"Where are we going?"

"That'll ruin the surprise. Come on!"

Erika essentially pulled him out the door and ran to the main road, pulling him by the hand. She hailed a taxi and they both get inside. As their driving, Erika turns to Sherlock and grabs his hand. She then drops a gold band into his palm.

"Is this a wedding ring?" Erika nodded and smirked, pulling a similar one out of her pocket. "Why?"

"It might be useful, believe me. Ah, here we are!"

The cab stopped and they both got out, Erika paying the driver. She walked him down the road a little before they found themselves standing outside a slightly run down looking building. She smiled and turned to Sherlock who wore an expression that showed disbelief and questioning ideas.

"You've brought me to a pub."

She smiled. "I've brought you to a pub."

"Why?"

Erika let out a laugh and leant against the outside of the building, carefully avoiding the cigarette butts that littered the ground. "Because it means that I can relax and you can do whatever it is you do when you're not solving crimes."

He walked over to her and leant against the wall next to her. "And what is it you expect me to do?"

"I don't care. You can insult people, you can analyse them, you can even criticize me if you want. I don't care as long as you're not sitting in that same damn room for a week."

He looked at her hard, trying to see any ulterior motives. Unlike most, she didn't shy away from his observation and looked him in the eye, waiting for him to finish. Eventually he did and he smirked. "Okay then."

She smiled and pulled him into the bar. She sat him down at a table, pushing past all those people to get there before speaking. "Now, I'll get us some drinks."

"I don't really drink." Erika turned with a raised eyebrow at this remark as she began to walk away.

"Yes you do."

Erika left him at a table and before she returns, a woman approaches him.

"Hello, gorgeous," she purred.

"What do you want?" he responded, uninterested and partially oblivious. Before the woman could answer Erika's voice cut through the crowd.

"Sweetie! I've got the drinks. Oh, it seems you've made a friend. I'm Erika and this is my husband John," she said, putting the drinks down on the table and holding her left hand to the woman. Both Sherlock and her saw the ring on her finger and immediately Sherlock understood it's purpose. He slipped his on quickly as the woman looked flustered.

"I was just asking him where the restrooms were. Excuse me." Without any further remarks, she left and Erika sat. They waited about five seconds before they both burst out laughing. She took the ring off her finger and Sherlock did the same. She handed him a glass of scotch and pulled her cosmopolitan little close to her.

"Understand their purpose now?"

"Indeed," he said with a smile. He took a sip before realising he never told her what to order, and yet she got what he usually would have asked for. "How did you know I drank scotch?"

"It's obvious," she remarked, taking a sip of her cocktail.

"How so?" he said before taking another sip himself.

She leant forward. "Because of your upbringing and your personality."

"Ah, I understand."

"Do you now?"

"Yes I do. But prove yourself. How did you know?" She smiled at this and leant back in her chair, looking him up and down before starting a deduction that many would have imagined came from the other's mouth.

"You have an addictive personality. Smoking, cocaine and your little puzzles. Did you think I'd believe that alcohol wasn't in there somewhere?"

"Okay," he said, understanding the logic. "But scotch. How did you get to that?"

"Your family."

Sherlock's brow furrowed. "Continue."

"You're from a wealthy family who no doubt had a very well stocked liquor cabinet and I'll bet at least once, before you could get your hand on anything illicit or some cigarettes, they left you home alone with a hairpin."

He took another sip. "True."

Erika continued. "You're faster with a paperclip or hairpin than most are with a key, which puts you in the perfect place to get a head start on poisoning your liver."

"Yes," he muttered, before raising his voice so that it could be heard. "But why scotch?"

"Like I said, wealthy family."

"Ah, I see." They both smiled at each other and Erika raised her glass in a sort of toast.

"Cheers, Mr Holmes." Sherlock raised his glass to the same level.

"To You, Miss Butler." Their glasses met with a clink and they drank, enjoying their time out without fear of intrusion.


	15. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Sherlock and Erika walked down Thornton Place happily tipsy. Neither of them could be considered drunk but they were complacent at this moment. Sherlock leant down at their door and unlocked their door a little slower than usual but not so slowly as someone would suspect they were picking the lock.

He opened the door for Erika and she walked in first. Then Sherlock came in behind her and he closed the door after them. He turned around and was shocked when he found Erika's lips pressed to his own in a soft kiss. He didn't respond and quickly Erika pulled away. They both stood there for a moment before Sherlock spoke.

"Why did you do that?" Erika smiled up at him innocently.

"Because you let me go." He knew full well what she was referring to but found no connection between the two events.

"I let you go 2 years ago."

"I know," she answered. She took one step closer to him so they were about a foot apart. "But why did you let me go?"

"Because you were dying."

"So was the cabbie," she said. He instantly knew she was referring to the _Study in Pink_ case on John's blog; an aneurism in the killer's brain. "No mercy there."

Sherlock knew the rational reason for this and he stated it for her as evidence. "He was a murderer, you were a thief. It was different."

"And you didn't fancy the cabbie." The meaning in those words was lost on Sherlock for a moment before the truth sunk in and he looked down at her piercingly.

"Are you suggesting that I fancy you?"

"Yes." That one small word had the power to momentarily stun him. How had she deluded herself into believing this? It wasn't true; but them he remembered the room in his mind palace with all the missing details. Could it be she was right? No. He had to keep himself distant. Denial was all he could do.

"I don't."

"It's written all over your face."

"I'm a sociopath," Sherlock said, reverting to a phrase he used all too often. "I can't 'fancy' people."

"No," she said, stepping a little closer so the two were almost nose to nose. "You can fancy people, you just can't love them."

Sherlock could feel his argument crumbling around him and he answered with the only thing he could think of. "What does that matter to you?"

She sighed. "It matters because I have to live the rest of my life knowing that you will never see me as anything more that the girl you let go."

"You..." He took a moment to try and comprehend what he had just heard before putting his questions into words. "You love me?"

"Yes. I love you."

"And you think I'm incapable of love."

"I know you are. And that breaks my heart every passing day."

"You don't know that," he said, merely testing her strength and understanding.

"But I do. Women and men of all sorts walk in and, although you may admire at a glance, that's all there is. Admiration."

He watched a tear slide down her face and she quickly wiped it away with her hand. Sherlock then stated a fact that was obvious to anyone. "You're upset."

"Yes."

"You're upset because you think I can't love you."

"Yes."

Sherlock thought for a brief moment, contemplating his next action. Finally he made a decision. "You're wrong."

[WARNING: Sexy time starts here!]

His lips came crashing down on hers in a rare display of passion and, never being one to let a chance pass her by, Erika kissed him back, her hands tangling in his hair, thick and black, to pull him closer. Sherlock's arms wrapped themselves around her waist as he pressed their bodies tightly up against each other.

Erika felt that Sherlock was a little wary of what to do next and she gladly took charge, parting her lips slightly. Following her lead, he did the same and almost immediately Erika slipped her tongue into his mouth, exploring it. Although surprised, Sherlock again copied her and soon they were battling for dominance.

He pulled back and looked down at the woman in his arms. _'Dilated pupils, quickened pulse, heavy breathing, slightly parted lips,'_ he thought. _'Aroused._' He was then surprised to find that he felt the same. Less than a second had passed. He leant forward and buried his face in the crook of her neck, leaving a trail of kisses along her jawline. A sigh of satisfaction fell from her lips and he smiled.

He began experimenting on her. Licking, kissing and sucking at her neck to see which gained the greatest reaction. When he bit down gently in the crook of her neck she let out a moan so low and sensual he could hardly believe it was possible. Then she did something Sherlock wasn't ready for.

Erika pulled at his hair, bringing his mouth back to hers. Then, with strength he didn't know she possessed, she gripped at the front of his shirt and pulled him over to the sofa, pushing him down reasonably gently so that he was sitting looking at her. She then sat on his lap so she was straddling his hips. She then wrapped one arm around his neck while the other curled in his hair as she lowered her head to kiss him.

Sherlock moved one of his hands up and down the length of her spine, earning shivers of pleasure from her. They continued to kiss deeply as their fingers tangled in each other's hair, pulling the other close to them.

Erika's hands them began to roam down his chest, feeling the slight muscle apparent through his shirt, but that wasn't enough. She began to unbutton his shirt when suddenly two hands caught her wrists. She looked up to see Sherlock's face twisted in a way that showed slight uncertainty.

"What is it?" she said, running her fingers along his cheekbone. Sherlock's face turned to one that showed uneasiness and an awkwardness she'd never seen in him before. She gave him a moment before he spoke.

"It's just...I've never...well..." It was rare for Sherlock Holmes to be out of words but for once, he was. How was he supposed to explain that he was a virgin? But luckily, he didn't have too. Erika smiled at him and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. This wasn't like the kisses they'd just shared. This was different, kind and loving. She brought one have to rest on his cheek. She looked him in the eye, green meeting grey, and said, "I don't care. But we can stop if you want. Or take it slow. You decide."

"Slow," he answered and that was all the encouragement she needed. Erika pressed her lips to his in a loving way. She was letting him take the lead, and he did. Sherlock set the pace by kissing her feverishly and pulling her in close to him. She sighed into his mouth as he rubbed small circles on her shoulder blade. Then something changed in him, and the animalistic side of him made its grand entrance.

His mouth left hers as he kissed down her jaw and neck until he reached her collarbone. Then he repeated his past process, licking, sucking, kissing and biting at her. She let her head fall back as moans of ecstasy cascaded from her lips, her hands tangling in his hair to pull him in closer. He kissed the hollow of her neck and then licked his way up to her ear. Then, he let his nose gently graze her skin as he moved across her face until he reached her lips. That was when Erika decided to regain control.

Using all her strength, she pushed Sherlock's shoulders back into the sofa and pressed herself onto him. She kissed him with such intensity that it stunned him momentarily, but Sherlock was nothing if not a fast learner and was soon kissing her with the same passion.

Erika's mouth left his and he opened his eyes. On seeing her face, he nodded, giving his permission. She then proceeded to unbutton his shirt, kissing each bit of exposed flesh that appeared after the opening of each button. Then, with him leaning forward so as to help her remove it, she threw it to the floor. Then she leant right down and licked him from naval to collarbone, tasting him. He shuddered under her and fought to stifle a moan.

"You don't have to hold back, Sherlock," she said seductively. She then repeated the action, licking up his chest. This time, Sherlock let out a low moan, his head rolling back. Erika smiled at this and continued to tease him until Sherlock could take no more.

He pulled her back up to him and kissed her again. She accepted gladly and soon moans of pleasure were heard from both parties. Then Sherlock, acting purely on instinct, began tugging at her shirt. Erika lifted her arms above her head so he could remove it. It then quickly joined his shirt on the floor.

Erika felt like there was fire where he touched her. Wanting Sherlock to feel the same, she ran her fingers along his bare chest, never breaking their kiss. Their fingertips continued to explore each other's bodies, both of them hungry for more.

Then Sherlock ran one hand up her stomach, raising goose bumps where he touched her. Then, experimentally, he massaged her right breast. Erika let out a long, deep moan as he caressed her through her bra. The black lacy item was the only barrier between them and she wanted it gone. She reached behind her to take it off but Sherlock stopped her.

She looked up, expecting to see eyes filled with uncertainty but instead they were black with lust. Then he said two words that made her smile. "May I?"

Erika nodded and let her hands fall to her side. Sherlock leant forward so that they were kissing deeply as his hands snaked around her back. Then with un-amateurish speed, he unhooked her bra so now it was held up only by their bodies tightly pressed together.

Sensually, Erika leant back and pulled her bra straps off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Then she leant back into Sherlock slowly, ensuring she didn't overwhelm him. In fact, it seemed the exact opposite was what he desired.

He pulled her into him, forcing her into a long, deep kiss, their bare chests pressed against each other. His arms wound around her waist, hers around his neck. Moving away from her mouth, he kissed down her throat and sternum until he reached her breasts. He was hesitant as to what to do so he decided to copy Erika. He pressed a kiss to her left breast, eliciting a low whimper from her. She reached to undo her jeans but Sherlock stopped her and undid them himself.

She stood up and rolled them, along with her underwear, down her legs so she stood now in completely naked. Erika then sat back on him and devoured his mouth. She pulled him right to her and kissed him with all the passion she had ever possessed. Sherlock reciprocated and they pulled each other closer, begging the other to do more, to take it one step further, but now Erika wanted to dominate.

Seemingly effortlessly, she flipped him so that she was still straddling Sherlock but he now lay back on the sofa. Although surprised, he did nothing in the way of protesting. She kissed him and then moved further and further down, kissing his chest, his stomach, his naval until he reached where she wanted to be.

Gaining another nod of permission, she undid his belt and pulled his trousers and underwear down and off. Then she wiggled back up and laid on him, their naked bodied pressed together. She leant forward and kissed him deeply. Erika moaned ecstatically. She forced her tongue into his mouth again, exploring it. Sherlock was content to let her and he reciprocated, tangling his fingers in her hair. She bit his lower lip gently and he growled.

"Are you ready?" she questioned, pulling herself away from him. He paused for a moment, and then nodded. Carefully, she positioned herself before lowering onto him. Simultaneously, they both let out moans of pleasure.

Not long after the two of them finished together and Erika fell on top of him. They lay there, content with their bodies pressed together on the sofa.

"I must say," she whispered in his ear. "You're pretty good for a first timer."

She pressed a light kiss to his lips and they fell asleep in each other's arms.


	16. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Erika woke up slowly, feeling that Sherlock was still there behind her, cradling her in his arms. She smiled and enjoyed the feeling for a moment before kissing him gently to wake him. He pulled her closer slightly before opening his eyes.

"Good morning."

"Or something like that," he answer gruffly, wincing a little at the sunlight. This wasn't anything to do with the alcohol though, he just hated waking up. Erika however wasn't about to let him behave that way. She flicked his ear gently, but still enough to cause a little pain.

"Well aren't you a ray of sunshine," she said as she stood up, stretching a little. Sherlock, however, remained on the sofa.

"You're surprised?"

"I wish I was but sadly, no," she answered simply, leaning down to kiss him softly. "Any regrets?"

"None at all."

"Good," she said, smiling. "Now, strange question. Can I borrow a shirt?"

Sherlock looked at her with a furrowed brow. "...It won't fit you."

"Exactly, I need a loose T-shirt."

He began to question her but decided against it almost immediately; instead resorting to the easier option, honesty. "Don't have one."

Erika just looked at his with a tilted head.

"You were a junkie once."

Sherlock flinched at the memory. "Years ago."

"Yes," she said, hands now on her hips. "But that means that at some point you didn't look like a boutique men's clothing model."

He sighed, knowing she was right. However, Mycroft had gotten rid of everything that showed any trace of his addiction. Each of those pieces of clothing was now ash in the grate in the fireplace at the Holmes' country manor. Instead he offered her a substitute. "Use my dressing gown."

"Perfect." Erika collected all of the clothing from the floor and disappeared into the bedroom. She returned shortly wearing his dressing gown tied tightly around her waist so that it covered all the scars that she had. She was also carrying a loose pair of trousers and she handed them to Sherlock. He held them but made no effort to put them on, first requiring an explanation.

"You didn't explain, what was the purpose of this?"

From the kitchen she called out, "It's a symbolic rite of passage."

"Symbolic of what precisely?"

"Well," she started, turning around to face him with her back against the bench. "After a man and a woman have sex for the first time, it's traditional that she wears an item of his clothing for the rest of the morning and he walks around wearing only trousers."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at this remark, knowing full well that she was making most of it up. Now he was going to make her tell him the truth. "And?"

"And nothing. Put your trousers on."

"Not until you explain the real reason you wanted a shirt."

She bit her lip and smiled a little. "And...all my clothes are really form fitting and I don't want to wear tight clothing. Sherlock Holmes, put your trousers on."

Finally, Sherlock did as she asked and pulled them on; however he couldn't hold back the remark that burst from his lips. "That's not the first time I've heard that."

"Who said it before? That dominatrix?" He detected the slightest bit of jealously in that question and smiled. However, her reaction to the real answer would be far more amusing, he had no doubt.

"No, Mycroft."

Erika blinked heavily and raised an eyebrow before turning back to the meal she was trying to cook. "I don't even want to know."

"I went to Buckingham Palace wrapped in a sheet-"

"I said I didn't want to know," she repeated, turning away, but he couldn't resist the urge to tease her.

"And John was there and Mycroft said to-"

"Wait, John was-" Then she just stopped and focused herself on cooking breakfast. "I don't want to hear it, but I hope it's a bloody good explanation."

"It is."

"Good, now," she said, holding two plates of food. "Breakfast."

The rest of the day passed blissfully. To the outside eye, there was no real change in their relationship. They acted the same way towards each other, either teasing or ignoring the other one. The only time the conversation really changed to something very different to the norm was later that night when they were both sitting on the sofa, ignoring each other until Erika broke the silence.

"Why me?" Sherlock was snapped back to reality, abandoning her room in his mind palace, by her question. Despite this, its context was still a mystery to him.

"What do you mean by that?" Erika smiled at him before clarifying.

"You've had women, and some men I imagine, swooning over you for years. Maybe some of them even continued to do so after you spoke to them and yet I'm to one you chose to let defile you. My question is, why me?"

Sherlock looked at her, unable to answer. In reality, he had absolutely no idea why she was so important. Despite this, he hated to have to admit to not knowing something. Picking at his brain for an answer, Erika spoke up. "I have three reasons which I think might explain it."

He let out a sigh of relief at not having to answer before questioning her. "And what would they be?"

She sat up a little straighter and began to explain. "One – Alcohol. We were both a little buzzed."

Sherlock smirked a little. No doubt this was a factor, with the alcohol taking away some of the awkwardness and inhibitions; however, neither of them could be accused of being drunk. Erika gave him a moment to process before continuing.

"Two – I have an expiration date. No real commitment problem." He hadn't thought of that but he was capable of seeing the good in it; the small high in the never-ending low. He waited for her to continue but she didn't, so he prompted her.

"And the third?"

"I'm perfect."

Sherlock let out a small chuckle and a grin spread across Erika's face. "You're perfect, are you?"

She nodded. "I am the perfect woman. Or at least I am for you."

"How so?" he questioned, curious.

"Let's look back shall we? Molly, that girl who works at the morgue, fancies you and she's desperate for you to love her. However, you are a sociopath, or at least you've convinced yourself that you are, and therefore you never will.

"Then there's Irene, the dominatrix. She was so close to perfect for you but she made the same mistake that dear Molly did. She needed you to love her. Also, her personality would have clashed with yours in a way to put the big bang to shame."

Sherlock smiled at all this. He was well aware that all of this was true to a point bust she still hadn't really explained herself. "True as that all may be, you haven't explained. Why, Miss Butler, are you the perfect woman for me?"

She grinned like the Cheshire cat. "I love you Sherlock Holmes, and you know that. However, I know that you can't love me so I don't expect you too. I'm perfect for you because I don't care what you say or do as long as you still see me in a way that means you appreciate me. I don't care if it's as some sort of live in hooker or as much as a friend with benefits."

"And that's what makes you perfect?"

"That," she said as she moved slightly closer to him. "And I'm hot, smart, dangerous and-"

"Full of yourself?" She let out a small laugh at this.

"Like you can talk." They laughed and then neither of them moved, just looking at each other. Their eyes like diamonds and emeralds connected and neither wanted to break the link. Erika leant forward slowly and gently pressed her lips to his. He accepted the kiss and wrapped his arms around her. This was gentle and kind on both parts. As they pulled away, Erika rested her head on his shoulder.

"You know," she started. "Other than me, there is only one other person who could be considered perfect for you."

"And who would that be?" he asked, curious who received her seal of approval.

"Doctor John Hamish Watson."

Sherlock didn't even pause to think before responding. "John's not gay."

Erika laughed. "I never said he was, although it's interesting that you defend his sexuality before your own. I merely meant that in personality, you two are soul mates."

He let out a sigh, relinquishing his control. He knew she was right; he and John were more than friends. They were the closest thing to being in a relationship possible without them both being gay. Still, he had to admit that the bond between them was stronger than friends, possibly even than brothers.

Erika then stood up, pulling him by the hand. "All people need sleep. Yourself included. Come on."

She pulled him to the bedroom and he lay down. She crawled into bed beside him and was reminded of the reality he lived. There were two people made for him; one at his side, the other alone and cold. Sherlock wished they could both be with him, but he settled for the one he had, hugging Erika close to him as she slept.


	17. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

The next couple of weeks passed with almost no change between the two. They barely touched each other and their conversation rarely varied from how it was before. In no way would they even look like a couple. Sherlock continued to search for Moran and Erika remained at home, acting like the good housewife.

Everything went perfectly fine until the leads he was following started to run dry; this lead to Sherlock spending hours laying on the sofa bemoaning the fact that he had nothing to do and that his mind was going to waste. Erika put up with this for the most part, but some days it just got to be far too much.

"Bored!" Sherlock lay with his body length exceeding the sofa's space so his feet hung over the edge. Erika sat at the desk, answering emails from her doctors and filling out various forms that her oncologist and the tax companies insisted she do. Without turning around, she answered him.

"So do something." Sherlock looked at the back of her head with a look of complete disbelief and annoyance.

"Such as what?"

"I don't know. Read a book."

"Predictable."

"Watch a movie."

"Dull."

"Kill a prostitute for all I care!" Sherlock recoiled a little at that. Rage was unusual in her, especially with very little provocation. Despite all signals to stop, his boredom and curiosity took over and he pushed her that little but further.

"Snappy."

"Shut up, Sherlock!" Erika yelled at him, turning to face him for once. He sunk back into the lounge and she returned to her emails. There was silence for a long moment before one of them could no longer hold in their annoyance with the situation.

"Bored!"

"I don't want to hear it," she answered, her voice level with a sing-song quality. Sherlock however wasn't one to give up easily.

"But I'm BORED!" She sighed and leant back from the computer dramatically, putting the back of her wrist on her forehead in an overly melodramatic way.

"Aren't we all!"

"Are you mocking me?" he said, already knowing the answer.

"Yes." She then returned to her emails as if nothing had happened.

"Vicious." Sherlock muttered the word under his breath but was aware of its consequences immediately. The second the word passed his lips, Erika stood up and walked over to him, standing so that she was right over him, her nose about an inch from his.

"THAT was vicious? Honey, you ain't seen nothing yet."

"...haven't."

"What?"

"It's not 'ain't' it's 'haven't'."

Erika smiled slightly at him, clearly amused by his grammar pet hate. She walked back over to the desk, sitting down and resuming her previous activities before being interrupted again by a man pushing her buttons. "I'm still bored."

"Well, what do you want me to do about it?" she questioned, turning in her chair to face him.

"Give me something to do!" As soon as he said it, an idea sprung into Erika's mind and a smile teased at her lips. She closed her window on the computer and stood up.

"Well," she started as she walked over to him sensually. I do have an idea for SOMETHING we could do."

Sherlock looked up at her as she leant down and pressed a soft kiss to his lips."

"Really?"

"Mmhm," she hummed into his mouth. Sherlock decided to play dumb.

"And what would that be?"

"Let me show you."

Erika moved on top of him so she was straddling his hips. She leant down and kissed him. Sherlock pulled her in closer and she smiled against his lips. She moaned slightly as he gently bit her lower lip. Erika broke away and kissed his jaw, his neck, his collarbone and sucked gently at a bundle of nerves in the crook of his neck. He groaned slightly and made to pull her in closer but Erika simply stood up and walked away.

"What was-?"

"I did warn you," she said, cutting him off as she sat down, reopening her email.

"What do you-"

"I said I could be vicious." Sherlock pressed back into the sofa, annoyed at this woman.

"Tease."

"Corpse."

"I thought that was what your not-so-distant future occupation was?" The second those words were out of his mouth, he realised the mistake that he'd just made. Erika turned to him with tears clear in her eyes. She managed to find enough strength in her voice to whisper one phrase before rushing into the bedroom.

"You son of a bitch."

Sherlock sat completely still for a moment, knowing the words he just said were far colder and crueller than he ever intended them to be. He cursed silently under his breath before standing and walking to the bedroom door. He could hear sobs from the other side of the wood and took a deep breath before knocking.

"Erika?" There was no answer to her name but he knew she heard him. He made to open the door but found it was locked from the inside and there was no way he could open it without her noticing. Instead he decided to plea.

"Erika, please. I'm sorry."

He heard the sobs stop for a brief moment and a shuffle from inside. Then the lock turned and the door opened, revealing a distressed and hurt Erika, tears rolling down her cheeks. She turned without saying a word and retreated back into the bedroom. She lay down and curled up with her back to him. He could see the sobs racking through her body, yet she remained silent. He walked into the room and closed the door behind him.

"I'm sorry, Erika. I didn't think it through properly. It's the curse of speaking your mind. Please forgive me." Sherlock sat on the end of the bed and pressed one hand to her shoulder. The second he did, Erika let one sob pass her lips and she turned to him, resting her head in his lap as she cried herself out. Sherlock stroked her hair awkwardly, like he did his old cat when he was ten, as she wept.

After almost an hour, Erika stopped her crying and looked up at the detective. "You're forgiven. Just please, don't ever do that again."

He leant down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "I swear it."


	18. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Their relationship wasn't quite the same after that. Erika was far more timid and shy, not speaking out as much as she used too. While Sherlock was out looking for leads she remained in the house. She stopped busking and singing and spent more time locked in either the bathroom or the bedroom, complaining of headaches or nausea. He knew it was her cancer getting worse, but he knew he didn't do her any favours by insulting her the way he did the week before.

Time dragged by and Erika grew sicker and tireder as the disease took over her body. He watched her start to fade away as he knew she would, but he had to admit the sight was a sorrowful one. She had gotten much thinner, unable to keep down a meal, and her skin had faded from being pale to now almost translucent as her flesh sunk into her bones.

Erika did well to hide it the best that she could, seeing the pain in his eyes when he looked at her. She smiled when she could but knew it did little to comfort him. Sherlock still knew that she was hurting and it was, at least partially, his fault. She was losing a battle she'd been fighting for a long time, and there was nothing left for her to do but surrender. It was this knowledge that prompted a question from her one day when they were both sitting at the kitchen table drinking tea.

"Can we go on a date?" The question was said so softly that Sherlock couldn't be certain she had actually said it. However the smiled that followed was all the confirmation he needed. Still, just because she had said it, didn't mean he understood its purpose.

"Why?"

"Because," she said, taking another sip of her tea. "I'm not going to be around all that much longer and I'd like to have one moment to cherish on my deathbed where you and I are acting like a normal couple, even if we aren't."

Sherlock smirked a little. The idea of normality and social etiquette had always confused and amused him. Erika wanted to act with mild normality and, for once, he felt obligated to oblige. "Certainly. Tonight if you like?"

"Worried I mightn't see the morning out Sherlock?" she said with a laugh, however the solemn look on Sherlock face wiped away all the humour the sentence had ever carried as Erika remembered how hollow she looked. She reigned herself in and smiled at him politely. "Tonight would be wonderful."

He smiled and nodded, taking another sip of tea when there was a knock on the door. This startled both of them as in the 6 months they'd been living in this flat, not once had anyone knocked. Tentatively, Sherlock walked to the door and opened it, prepared for anything. However, he was met with a young man, no older than twenty, who was clearly living rough. He handed Sherlock a note, tipped his hat in a very gentleman like fashion, and left without saying a word.

Quickly, he opened the note and read the brief message scrawled upon it. He then grabbed his coat and scarf, clearly ecstatic. "I've got him. I know exactly where he is. I'll be back by six, and then we can go out on that date."

Without waiting for a response, Sherlock left. He ran to the main road and hailed a cab. Giving the cabbie his destination he sat back, silently plotting out each attach and defence he could use against the Colonel. By the time they pulled up at the abandoned factory, Sherlock was fairly certain he knew how the event would go. He paid the driver and strolled in, prepared for what he thought was soon to come.

The rooms were dark and eerie, with the only light coming from lone window in the walls. He walked through the corridors with a nonchalance that only someone oozing confidence could possess. Up and down flights of stairs he walked, looking for any evidence of an inhabitant. Finally he found some.

Three cigarette stubs and a handgun, bullets and all, were all that furnished a small dark room at the end of a corridor. Cautiously, Sherlock approached them, examining the cigarette butts, draining them of all the information they could ever contain, before dropping them again. He glanced over the weapon, noting its type, but didn't think to pick it up as his attention was suddenly focused on a light coming from an adjoining room.

As he approached the door frame, he looked in and saw Colonel Sebastian Moran sitting in the corner of the room with his back to Sherlock. He was writing furiously at a desk with a torch hanging from a nail in the wall. A quietly as he could, Sherlock approached the man but was given away by a shadow on the wall. Fast as anything, Moran turned and punched the detective in the jaw.

As he recoiled the Colonel stood and made to punch him in the stomach but Sherlock blocked him, elbowing him in the nose in the process. Bleeding from the face didn't seem to slow the army hardened gent as he continued his attack on Sherlock, soon becoming aware of whom it was that was assaulting him. They fought tooth and nail, neither willing to lose until Moran regained the upper hand.

Working on Sherlock's weaknesses, he elbowed Sherlock in the stomach, winding him momentarily, and then gave him a right hook to the face, knocking him to the ground. As soon as Sherlock was down he took advantage, kicking at everything he could reach as revenge for his employer and friend's fate.

Sherlock lay on the ground, bleeding and gasping for air as Moran finally stood back. He knelt on the ground and wrapped two hands around the detective's throat, cutting off his air. Sherlock started to see spots dancing in front of his eyes as he began to suffocate. Moran's smiling face was the only thing his vision could hold and he knew that the image would haunt him, whether or not it was the last thing he ever saw.

Then the air was pierced by an ear-splitting bang and Sherlock felt the grip around his throat slacken as a weight fell on him. He pushed the body of Sebastian Moran off him, noting the gunshot wound through the man's neck_. 9mm_. He turned to see the source of the shooting and was met with a sight he could never have expected.

There stood Erika with the gun pointed directly where Moran would have been. On meeting Sherlock's eye she calmly put the weapon back exactly where it was. Then she just stood, watching as Sherlock did his best to erase any evidence against her, despite her constant reminder that it hardly mattered as she would no doubt be dead by the time she was trialled. Finally, when they were all finished, they started to walk out.

"Why did you follow me?" Sherlock questioned.

"It seems I had good reason too," she responded calmly, shockingly so. "you'd be dead without me."

"Undoubtedly." She smiled and they continued to walk out in silence. Moran's hiding place was quite a way from the entrance so they quickened their pace, wanting to get out by nightfall. Soon they reached the room just before the exit when Erika slowed.

"Sherlock!" she yelled at him as he hadn't noticed her falling behind.

"What is it? We need to get out of here!"

"I…Sherlock…help me…" And then she collapsed, falling to the floor with an ungracious thud. Sherlock didn't think before scooping her up and carrying her, running with all the speed he had to the exit. He then continued, knowing that calling an ambulance in a place such as that would raise questions. Finally getting to a moderately public place he called an ambulance.

He sat with her, hoping that she would wake up but was met with not such result. He kept checking her pulse and breathing, noticing both were slowed. Her temperature was dropping fast so he took off his coat and wrapped it around her, hoping to help her keep warm enough to raise her heart rate. Sadly, this wasn't to be.

When the ambulance arrived they put her on the stretcher, covering her in every blanket they had, and took her into the ambulance. Sherlock climbed in with her and was met with sideways glances when they saw the state he was in. He had to admit he probably didn't look the best, bleeding and bruised from head to toe, but he felt more of their attention should be focused on her.

Before he could voice this opinion, Erika gasped, conscious again. The paramedics rushed to her side, asking her questions that any toddler could have answered. She responded as fluently and as quickly as she could. When they had finished there was a moment of silence before it was broken by Erika's quiet voice.

"I'm going to die." The deafening silence was all the confirmation her statement would need. She let a small sob pass her lips before giving in to the unconsciousness once more.


	19. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

The next time Erika woke, she was lying in a hospital bed with a million wires attached to her. She could feel the coolness of the sheets around her and the metal bars on the sides. The soft beeping of a heart rate monitor counting a little too slowly the only noise she could hear. Slowly she opened her eyes and saw Sherlock sitting beside her. He looked as though he'd been patched up from his injuries and that made her a little happier. She smiled weakly at him.

"How long have I been out?" Sherlock turned, clearly unaware that she was awake until that moment. There wasn't a twitch of a smile at his mouth which told her more than she ever needed to know about her condition.

"Eight hours," he answered, cold and factual. "They've done three blood draws, an MRI and a PET scan. We're just waiting for the results."

Erika closed her eyes and let a tear cascade down her cheek. Sherlock merely sat as though he was made of marble as the two of them, the thief and the detective, waited for her final judgement. Finally it came in the form of an oncologist who clearly Erika recognised and vice versa. They briefly acknowledged each other before the social etiquette was bypassed for results.

"Miss Butler, you are aware that you have been battling terminal brain cancer for the past two years. I'm afraid that this is your last stand. I'm sorry." He reached out a hand and touched her on the shoulder as Erika cried. Then he left with words of trying to make things as comfortable as possible which neither of the room's occupants heard, both of them too busy trying to comprehend what they had just heard.

"I don't understand why you're so upset." Sherlock said, no longer able to restrain himself. "You've known for a long time that this would come. How can you still be so saddened by it?"

Much to his surprise, she smiled at him. "There are some things that no-one can plan for."

They had told that she had days, three at most. Despite how strong she looked to any outside eye, Sherlock knew she was falling apart. However, he didn't know how to comfort her, so he merely sat there with her in silence, his hand resting on hers, as the moments ticked passed. It was over three hours before either of they spoke.

"Sherlock, you know what?" Erika's voice was barely above a whisper in her exhausted state. Sherlock turned to look at her and raised his eyebrows in a way that asked her to continue. She smiled and twisted her arm so she was holding his hand. "You being here is better than any date."

Sherlock smiled and they returned to their comfortable silence. Erika's mind was clearly turned to something of importance but she didn't speak another word for almost a day unless a doctor required it of her. The following morning Sherlock was met with two words he'd never expected to hear from her mouth.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes?" he said, getting up so he was standing next to her bed. She looked at him and bit her lip before continuing.

"I want you to do me a favour."

"Anything."

"Forget me." She looked away from him after she said that but he was still aware of the tear that slid down her cheek as she did so. He was surprised but, despite his previous claim, there were some things he would never do, and forget was one of them.

"No."

"Please!" she begged, facing him again, but still he refused her.

"Never. Why would you say that?"

"Because, I don't want anyone to mourn me."

"You...want to be forgotten?"

"Yes."

"No."

"Please, forget me. I don't want to hurt you when I...leave."

"Too late." She let out a small sob at that before restraining herself again.

"Why won't you?"

"Because...because you were the first."

"The first to sleep with you?"

"No. Well yes but that's not what I was trying to say."

"What were you going to say then?"

"Why would I want to forget the first woman who has ever meant anything to me."

"...Did you just...?"

"Erika..."

"N-no!" she practically screamed at him, crying more openly now. "You have to forget me! Please, FORGET ME! I BEG you! Don't make me do this to you! Please!"

"You already have."

Erika broke down into sobs and curled into a ball. Sherlock sat on the edge of her bed and she moved so she was sitting against him, her head nuzzled in the crook of his neck. Sherlock's arm wound around her, almost cradling her, and as she cried, he let a tear slide down his own cheek.

"I'm so sorry," Erika said between sobs, her face still nuzzled in his neck. Sherlock let out a sigh before answering her.

"I'm not."

"Sherlock, if you won't forget me, promise me one thing."

"What is it?" he said, not ready to commit to anything she said.

"When I'm gone, these doctors are going to tell you something I didn't want you to know. Something you never should have known. When they do, go back to John. I don't want you to be alone."

He smiled slightly, willing to accept this. "I promise."

"Thank-you." They stayed there for a long while, neither of them wanting to move in case they lost each other. Doctors came and went but nothing was said by any of them. Her room was silent as the grave and the world seemed to slow around them as they waited for the end to come. As night began to fall Erika raised her head so she was looking the detective in the eye.

"Sherlock?"

"Erika," he answered as a way of acknowledging her question of him.

"You know the saying 'Only the good die young'?"

"Yes."

"It lied." As she said those words, she pulled him in close to her and kissed him, kind and lovingly. He reciprocated and for a moment time stood still, until reality dawned again. Erika let out a soft sigh before her body went limp and she fell back into her pillow. One look at the heart rate monitor confirmed Sherlock's horrific reality and he called for help.

In an instant Sherlock was being pushed out of the room by a nurse as several people in white coats rushed into the room, one with a defibrillator. He was aware that the nurse was saying something but he couldn't hear her, all his mind was focused on the woman who lay in the bed behind the glass. The nurse went back into the room and he paced the room outside as he waited for any news that could put his mind at ease. He kept listening for any sign that something had happened when he heard the words he'd been dreading since the day she returned.

"Name, Erika Catherine Butler. Age: 26. Time of death?"

"8.54pm."

Sherlock heard it and stopped in his tracks. He waited for anything to contradict them but nothing did. Not too long after a doctor came out of the room, the oncologist from before, with a solemn expression.

"I'm sorry, Sir. I'm afraid that there was nothing we could do to save them."

"Them? I thought..."

"I'm sorry, I assumed you knew."

"She was...she was pregnant?"

"Yes. Thirteen weeks along."

"Thirteen...thirteen weeks?"

Sherlock collapsed into the chair behind him in a state of shock. The doctor rested a hand on his shoulder, guilty about the dark haired man's plight. He waited for him to speak, prepared to answer any questions the poor soul had, and eventually one came.

"Do you...I mean...the child...was it..."

"A boy."

"A boy."

At this the doctor then turned and left, leaving him to his privacy as Sherlock put his head in his hands. He let himself return to an almost human state and permitted his emotions a fleeting glance on the surface. He sat and cried for a time unknown to him, knowing that his son and his lover had been taken away from him forever.

He went back into the room, permitted to see the body. He gently stroked her face and leant forward, kissing her forehead. He gently placed one hand on her stomach for a brief moment before slipping the ring he had returned to her off his finger, placing it on one of hers. Then he composed himself for that brief moment and walked out of the room, to weighed down with grief to notice one of the doctors slip the ring off her finger and into his pocket.

He left the hospital with no idea where to go, when he saw the all too familiar road of Baker Street. His last promise to Erika rushed into his mind and before he properly thought about it, he rushed to 221B, having no doubt that he would have returned here by now. He took a deep breath before putting his key in to door for the first time in too long and stepping inside.


	20. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

John stood in the kitchen of the all too familiar 221B Baker Street. Mrs Hudson had been able to keep his flat thanks to the efforts of Mycroft and anonymous envelopes with 100 pounds a week in them. He was stirring his tea and walking back to his laptop when he heard a gasp from the landlady downstairs, followed by a slight sob. He was about to go and assist her when he heard a knock on the inner door. He put the mug down on the table and went to answer the knock.

"I'm fine Mrs Hudson, I don't need-" His words caught in his throat as he opened the door and saw the lean figure of none other than his friend Sherlock Holmes.

"What...?"

"No tricks John," he said, answering the unspoken question. "I'm alive."

He smiled weakly and John's fist curls into a ball. Soon Sherlock received a swift blow to his cheekbone before being met met by a crushing hug.

"You selfish bastard," the former army doctor cried into his friends shoulder. "You stupid, brilliant, selfish bastard."

Sherlock felt tears on his coat and found that his own face was moistened by them also. They remained in that awkward embrace for a while and Sherlock finally felt the need to speak.

"I'm so sorry John." Instant John pulled away and pulled Sherlock into the room. He motioned for him to sit down and he did so. John made him a cup of tea and handed it to him. Sherlock took it but refused to make any eye contact with the man who sat across from him.

"Where have you been?" John asked gingerly, concerned about his friend's distant behaviour. Sherlock looked at him with a slight smile. "In hiding. Old school colleague of mine moved to Australia but he has a small flat in Thornton Place. I got his permission to use it."

"Why did you have to disappear?"

"I had to get Moran."

"Moran?"

"Sebastian Moran, Moriarty's second in command and main sniper. If I didn't jump he was going to...to..." Sherlock looked at the ground, not saying another word about it so John decided to change the topic partially.

"You can't have been alone all that time."

"I wasn't alone I had...I wasn't alone."

"Well, who was with you?"

"A young woman, Erika Butler."

Immediately, John recognised the name. "She was the one who used to come around here all the time until…"

"Yes, she was making sure you were...surviving without me."

"Well, where is she?" John said eager to meet the woman again. "I should apologise and thank her."

"You can't she's...she's..."

It was then that Sherlock broke down into sobs and John was shocked by his reaction, merely to her name. He waited until he seemed a little better before prompting him for what had happened. Sherlock told him the entire story, missing nothing. From their meeting to their relationship and their son, he explained it all to John behind a mask of tears. By the end of his tale, John too was almost in tears, his only strength to stop them came from his need to comfort his friend.

"She never told me. She didn't want me to mourn her, but she knew I would if I knew." John merely nodded sympathetically, to shocked to say anything. He was about to recommend Sherlock rested when he spoke again. "And I never told her."

"Never told her what?"

"I never told her I loved her."

At this John's heart broke. He knew how hard it was for Sherlock to express emotion and this outpouring of it was evidence enough of his feelings. However, admitting to it showed a much deeper wound than he had ever expected. Sherlock Holmes was a broken man.

It was then that Mrs Hudson entered, holding a small package. John could see it was clearly addressed to Sherlock and before he could say anything about it Sherlock leapt up and took it from her hands before motioning for her to go. She did so without another word.

He returned to his seat and opened it. He found in it a box with a letter attached to it. He opened the letter, noting it was written on hospital paper, and began to read.

_My Dearest Sherlock,_

_I hate that all your current suffering can be traced back to me. I wish that it didn't have to be so but it seems it must._

_I want you to remember me not as I am, a pale woman destroyed by an illness, but by whom I was; the jewel thief who could outsmart you with a witticism and confuse you with a kiss. Know that you gave me the happiest ending a woman could ever hope for._

_When you were in the hospital beside me, I thought there must be someone watching over me who wants me to be happy. You have no idea how much you did for me and I thank you for every moment of it._

_I wish you would also remember our son. I tried to hang on as long as I could, so as to give you a child, but I'm afraid that I had no strength left in me. I hate that you have to mourn us, and I know that you will, but as you do, know that we love you more than life itself._

_In the package, I have a gift in the hope that you will remember us. Please forgive us our sins and remember us._

_I love you,_

_Erika_

Sherlock finished reading with tears streaming down his face. He carefully placed the letter back in its envelope before turning his attention back to the package. He opened it carefully and found inside there lay a small, silver spoon. He gingerly picked it up and looked at it, noticing the engraving on the handle:

_To William Sherlock Holmes._

Those words destroyed him and Sherlock let out a small scream before breaking back down into sobs. John bit back his own tears as he half carried, half dragged Sherlock to his bedroom and put him down in bed, knowing full well it would be a long time before he was alright again.


	21. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Two weeks later, the funeral was held. Erika Catherine Butler was buried where Sherlock once lay. There were very few attendance, with most being doctors who tended to her. It hurt John that so lovely a woman had so few friends. Sherlock stood toward the back, unable to bring himself to look at the casket or her tombstone. As it came to an end the three went home, Mrs Hudson and John on Sherlock's either side.

When they returned to Baker Street, John insisted Sherlock go and shower, assuring him it would make him feel better. When he agreed, the doctor went to make tea before there was a knock at the door. Mrs Hudson's grave face handed him a package addressed to Sherlock before leaving without a word.

Worried about Sherlock's fragile state, he opened the package on his behalf. Inside there was a small box which, he discovered on opening, held a silver, diamond and emerald ring. John recognised it immediately from Sherlock's story and quickly ran to his bedroom as the phone started to ring. He ignored it and put the ring in his locked top drawer, hoping Sherlock would have no need to try and find it.

He went back downstairs, worried about who would send such a thing to him when his questions were answered by the message tone that was being left on their answering machine. The sing-song voice was enough to chill John to the bone.

"I told you I'd burn the heart out of you. Ready to play?"

The beep that ran after the message sent a shiver down John's spine as she hastily deleted the message, resolving never to tell Sherlock of the true horror his story contained.

THE END


	22. Author's Note

There's a sequel to this story called _Silver and Gold_. You can choose whether you want to leave to story here or follow up.


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